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GAYLORD  RG 


PARIS  AT   NIGHT. 


SKETCHES  AND  MYSTERIES 


OF 


PARIS  HIGH  LIFE  AND  DEMI-MONDE. 


NOCTURNAL    AMUSEMENTS: 

HOW  TO  KNOW  THEM! 

HOW  TO  ENJOY  THEM!! 

HOW  TO  APPRECIATE  THEM !  I  / 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 

BOSTON  AND  PARIS    PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
Boston  Address,  P.  O.  Box  3197. 

Foi?  Sale  hy  all  New^s   Dealers. 


Fkench  and  English  Rights   Reserved. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by  Stuart  &  McLellaf 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Copies  sent  by  Mail  on  receipt  of  Price— 50  cents. 


PREFACE. 


*'  Homo  homitii  lupus.''  Man  is  a  wolf  to  his  fellow 
man."  But  the  lambs  that  become  the  easiest  prey  to 
wolves  in  sheep-clothing,  are  those  simple-hearted,  over- 
generous  foreigners,  who  come  to  Paris, — the  City  of 
Pleasure,  their  golden  dollars  ringing  in  their  too-open 
pockets,  and,  as  Americans  say,  "  up  to  every  game." 
They  have  to  pay  dearly  in  general  for  their  '*  games  " — 
very  often  far  dearer  than  they  would  do  could  they  help 
themselves.  To  them  we  address  ourselves.  We  would 
be  their  friend,  their  adviser,  and  their  guide.  We  would 
tell  them  enjoy  yourselves  by  all  means,  study  the  morals 
of  the  gay  inhabitants  of  this  gay  city,  visit  the  palaces 
of  amusement  as  well  as  the  low  haunts  ;  it  is  the  duty 
of  the  student  of  moral  philosophy  to  see  the  front  and 
reverse  of  the  medal.  Yes,  amuse  yourself  as  much  as 
you  like,  but  try  and  keep  your  money  in  your  pockets, 
follow  our  counsels,  and  your  property  and  health  will 
be  comparatively  safe.     "  Fore-warned  is  fore-armed." 


WHAT  THERE  IS  TO  BE  SEEN  IN  PARIS. 


Description  of  the  new  Boulevards  of  Paris,  created  by  Na- 
poleon 3d— describing  the  Grand  Cafe,  Grand  Hotel,  New- 
Opera  House,  Masked  Balls,  Theatres,  etc Page      5 

The  principal  places  of  interest  in  and  around  Paris,  and  the 
proper  course  to  be  pursued  in  finding  them. . .     Page  143 
How  to  get  around  Paris  and  Environs  in  Cabs.     Govern- 
ment regulations  and  Tariff  of  Prices Page  149 

How  to  ride  from  one  part  of  Paris  to  another  in  two  differ- 
ent Omnibuses  by  payment  of  one  fare Page  111 

Graphic  description  of  the  Jardin  Mabille,  Closerie  des 
Lilas,  or  Students  Ball,  Chateau  Rouge,  Musard  Open  Air 
Concerts,  (the  most  fashionable  in  Paris,)  Salle  Valentino, 

(rival  of  the  Jardin  Mabille) Page    58 

Wholesome  advice  to  persons  visiting  the  gay  Capital  for 

the  first  time Page    49 

Names  of  the  Best  and  Medium  Class  Restaurants.    Bill  of 

fare  and  prices  of  meals Page  101 

Names,  Location  and  prices  of  the  best  Hotels  and  Ameri- 
can Boarding  Houses Page  101 

Nooks  and  Corners  of  Paris  Life— Curious  Statistics.  106 

Armee  du  Crime  or  Criminal  Calendar Page  113 

Le  Demi-Monde Page    24 

The  Social  Evil Page    49 

Omnibus  Directory Page  146 

Cab  Tariff Page  149 

Walery c, Page  121 

Paris  out  of  Town Page  122 

Paris  at  Table Page  1S6 

Paris  Asleep Page  V62 

Twenty-four  HOURS  IN  London Page  137 


THE  BOULEVARDS. 


Every  great  capital  has,  and  has  had  a  centre — 
a  heart,  the  focus  of  life,  of  character,  and  move- 
ment. In  Rome,  the  Forum  with  its  Ganlic  mem- 
ories;  in  London,  Regent  Street;  in  ITew  York, 
Broadway  ;  and  in  Paris — modern  Paris — the  Bou- 
levards. Other  points  have  been  more  central, 
and  more  fashionable  in  the  Paris  of  the  past,  for 
the  Boulevards  Literiors  were  once  Exteriors,  and 
their  history  and  chronology  is  known.  But  the 
Palais  Royal,  the  Place  Royale,  the  Louvre,  and 
other  centres  of  attraction  have  been  eclipsed  by 
these  Boulevards,  which  represent  the  type,  the 
essence  of  Paris  life  in  all  its  originality  and  piq- 
nMcy.  Before  passing  to  description,  one  word 
upon  these  great  arteries  of  Paris  life. 

Formed  in  the  seventeenth  century,  they  were 
at  first  the  bulwarks  or  ramparts  of  the  Paris  of 
that  day,  when  nightingales  frequented  the  bos- 
quets replaced  by  the  present  Boulevards  Hauss- 
mann  and  Malesherbes,  and  lovers  rambled  through 
flowery  fields  about  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  Many 
interesting  historical  associations  are  connected 
with  them — thus  :  Mongolfier,  the  inventor  of  bal- 
loons, lived  in  the  Boulevard  St.  Denis;  the  assassin, 
Fieschi,  pointed  his  infernal  machine  against  Louis- 
Philippe  (July,  1835)  from  a  house  pulled  down, 
and  now  occupied  by  No.  50,  Boulevard  du  Tem- 
ple, and  the  noted  beauty,  Kinon  de  L'Enclos, 
lived  on  the  same  Boulevard,  IS'o.  23.     Upon  the 


6  THE   BOULEVARDS. 

Boulevard  Poissoniere,  in  1676,  lived  the  celebra- 
ted composer  Boildieu;  while  the  well-known 
Boulevard  des  Italiens,  the  zenith  of  Paris  anima- 
tion in  1815,  was  called  Boulevard  de  Gand,  and 
was  inhabited  by  the  s^reat  comedian  Regnard, 
the  rival  of  Moliere. 

What  a  transformation  in  the  present  age  :  the 
shop  windows  with  the  blaze  of  Potisi,  the  wealth 
of  the  Indies,  and  the  rarest  combinations  of  mod- 
ern ingenuity  and  industry, — a  Crystal  Palace  con- 
verted into  a  city,  with  avenues  of  light  and  passa- 
ges of  pleasure.  All  this  must  be  seen  to  be  un- 
derstood, or  rather  felt,  for  en  dernier e  analiise^  the 
general  impression  of  the  far-famed  Boulevards  is 
much  more  a  powerful  appeal  to  the  senses,  the 
passions,  and  perhaps  the  sesthetic,  than  to  the 
thought  or  reason  more  clearly  typified  in  our 
more  sober  cities,  the  markets  and  marts  of  this 
age  of  progress. 

A  heterogeneous  crowd,  which  the  delights  of 
the  French  Capital  have  attracted  from  all  parts 
of  the  world,  gaze  with  rapture  upon  the  scene  of 
wonders.  The  dazzling  display  of  diamonds  and 
other  costly  jewels  exhibited  in  the  windows,  wtech 
are  illuminated  with  gas,  by  means  of  reflectors, 
shedding  a  soft,  clear  light,  and  at  the  same  time 
showing  off  these  treasures  to  the  best  advantage. 
These  windows  are,  in  most  cases,  re-arranged  ex- 
pressly with  a  view  to  evening  eifect.  Nowhere 
can  be  seen  such  an  attractive  display  of  tiaras  of 
diamonds  and  precious  stones,  ranging  in  price 
from  five  to  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  Watch- 
es of  every  variety  and  style,  and  every  description 
of  articles  usually  found  at  such  establishments, 
glitter  in  the  soft  and  mellow  light.  Perfumery 
shops,  also  arranged  with  the  most  consummate 
skill,  impregnating  the  air  with  delicious  perfume, 
thereby  add  to  the  fairy-like  impressions  of  the 
scene. 


THE   BOULEVARDS.  7» 

Clothing  establishments,  marbles  and  pictures, 
bronzes,  fruit  and  pastry  shops,  in  fact  everything- 
can  here  be  found  in  the  greatest  profusion.  Every 
variety  of  form  and  device  is  resorted  to  in  arrang- 
ing the  gaslights,  so  as  to  produce  the  greatest  ef- 
fect. The  names  of  many  of  the  principal  cafeS' 
and  restaurants  are  emblazoned  over  the  doors  in 
letters  formed  of  gas,  the  effect  of  which  is  extreme- 
ly beautiful,  while  at  the  same  time  the  cost  must 
be  enormous  ;  but  the  shopkeepers  seem  to  pay  no 
regard  to  this  item  of  expenditure  in  their  endeav- 
ors to  make  the  most  brilliant  displays.  This  ex- 
hibition continues  until  about  midnight. 

RUE  ROYAL. 

Let  us  now  make  the  tour  of  the  most  attractive 
Boulevards,  starting  from  the  scene  of  exciting 
events  during  the  war,  several  attempts  were  made 
by  the  Communists  to  destroy  the  elegant  buildings, 
by  throwing  bottles  filled  with  petroleum  into  the 
windows,  and  setting  it  on  fire  ;  but  they  only  par- 
tially succeeded,  as,  being  constructed  mostly  of 
wood  and  iron,  and  thoroughly  fire  proof,  the  con- 
tents of  the  rooms  only  were  destroyed.  In  hun- 
dreds of  other  parts  of  the  city  which  were  fired 
by  them  they  were  in  most  cases  no  more  success- 
ful.^ We  pass  the  Church  of  the  Madeleine — which 
is  in  some  respects,  perhaps,  unrivalled  among 
modern  buildings.  This  edifice,  intended  by  the 
Great  N"apoleon  to  be  a  temple  of  glory,  is  a  Greek 
nave  restored — especially  in  its  exterior,  situated 
on  the  site  of  anoider  Madeleine,  date  of  Charles 
Yin.,  1492— was  founded  1763,  and  only  finished 
1843.  Leaving  this  church,  we  pass  in  a  direct 
line  through  the  following  Boulevards : — Boulevard 
de  la  Madeleine,  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens,  Boulevard  Montmartre,  Boule- 
vard Poissonniere,  Boulevard  Bonne  ITouvelle, 
Boulevard  St.  Denis,  Boulevard  St.  Martin. 


8  THE   BOULEVARDS. 

The  first  point  of  unusual  attraction  is  the 
Grand  Cafe  upon  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines, 
corner  of  Rue  Scribe,  the  largest  and  most  magni- 
fi.cent  cafe  in  Paris,  and  probably  in  the  world. 
The  general  effect  from  the  opposite  side  is  really 
enchanting ;  the  rooms  being  one  blaze  of  light. 
The  gaslights  are  in  globes  of  ground  glass,  and 
arranged  in  clusters  of  about  a  dozen  each.  It  is 
said  that  two  thousand  persons  congregate  here 
nightly  to  avail  themselves  of  the  opportunities  for 
perusing  the  leading  journals — all  of  which  are  to 
be  found  in  the  Paris  Grand  Cafe — which,  in 
fact,  may  very  properly  be  called  a  night  ex- 
change. 

Its  mere  decoration  and  its  furniture,  plate  and 
linen,  have  cost  the  trifling  sum  of  700,000  francs 
(£28,000).  Forty-five  gar9ons,  six  butlers,  and 
three  dames  de  comjytoir  attend  to  the  behests  of  its 
customers.  The  chief  peculiarity  of  this  cafe  is 
the  exquisite  painting  of  the  ceiling,  executed  by 
artists  of  no  less  merit  than  MM.  Boulanger,  De- 
launay,  and  Emile  Lev}^  A  group  of  bacchantes 
and  fauns  on  the  ceiling  of  a  drawing-room,  which 
measures  thirteen  metres  in  circumference,  is  a 
work  of  artistic  merit,  which  might  be  envied  by 
an  art  collector.  The  ceilings  of  the  smaller  recep- 
tion rooms  have  been  painted  by  Emile  Levy. 
The  allegorical  figures  of  Commerce,  Science, 
Arts,  and  Industry  are  admirably  designed. 

The  rooms  upon  the  lower  fioor,  of  which  there 
are  several,  and  very  spacious,  are  devoted  to  bil- 
liards, dining  and  coftee  rooms;  while  those 
above  are  fitted  into  magnificent  saloons  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  dinner  parties  and  balls  upon  a 
grand  scale.  The  building  has  a  circular  front, 
and  is  a  grand  and  imposing-looking  edifice.  Up- 
on the  sidewalks  in  front  of  the  cafe,  which  are 
about  thirty  feet  wide,  and  covered  with  asphal- 
tum  like  the  streets,  ai'e  arranged  small  tables  and 


THE  BOULEVARDS.  9 

neat  fancy  chairs  constructed  of  iron.  These  are 
mostly  occupied  upon  pleasant  evenings  by  per- 
sons of  both  sexes,  regaling  themselves  with  ices, 
&c.  The  efiect  of  this  large  crowd,  both  within 
and  without,  the  great  profusion  of  gaslights — the 
numbers  of  which  seem  doubled  in  the  immense 
mirrors  upon  the  walls — combine  to  produce  a 
scene  of  unusual  brilliancy. 

It  would  be  needless  to  say  that  everything  in 
this  grand  establishment  is  of  the  first  class,  both 
in  quality  and  price.  We  pass  on  to  the  next 
corner  ot  the  Rue  Scribe,  and  behold  the  famous 
Grand  Hotel — containing  some  eight  hundred 
rooms — with,  of  course,  the  most  modern  conveni- 
ences of  the  day.  This  building  has  its  front  up- 
on the  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  extending  to  the 
next  square,  called  the  Place  de  FOpera.  Here  is 
the 

NEW  GRAND  OPERA  HOUSE, 

The  largest  and  most  magnificent  opera-house  in 
the  world.  This  gorgeous  temple  of  the  Muses 
has  just  been  completed.  Algerian  onyx,  Russian 
malachite,  Italian  marble,  gilding,  painting,  sculpt- 
ure has  been  lavished  on  this  great  monument, 
which  has  cost  twenty-five  million  francs,  or  a 
million  pounds  sterling,  covering  a  space  of  eleven 
thousand  square  metres,  and  holding  two  thousand 
one  hundred  and  ninety-four  persons.  The  sculpt- 
ure and  painting  alone  are  estimated  to  cost  from 
one  million  to  one  million  two  hundred  thousand 
francs.  All  branches  of  Physics  are  here  repre- 
sented: Light,  Optics,  Electricity,  and  Acoustics 
play  their  different  parts.  There  is  an  organ 
formed  of  eighteen  registers,  distributed  over  two 
key  boards,  and  a  complete  foot  board.  It  is 
worked  by  four  pedals,  vibrating  the  air  contained 
in  1,032  pipes,  some  of  them  fifteen  feet  in  height. 
An  electric  light  is  thrown  upon  the  magnificent 


10  THE   BOULEVARDS. 

stage  by  means  of  a  Bunsen  battery  of  360  ele- 
ments. The  system  of  telegraphing  around  the 
building  is  very  complete.  Making  use  of  the  earth 
as  a  return  current,  one  of  the  poles  of  each  bat- 
tery being  in  communication  with  the  iron  of 
the  building,  an 

ELECTRIC  LAMP 

Is  placed  on  one  of  the  wooden  galleries  which 
run  along  the  higher  regions  of  the  scenery  above 
the  stage.  It  is  from  this  artificial  sky  that  a  new 
Phoebus  darts  upon  the  nymphs  of  the  ballet  the 
rays  of  his  electric  sun.  It  is  from  here  decom- 
posing the  light  by  means  of  the  vapor  of  water 
he  throws  upon  the  stage  a  veritable  rainbow,  as 
in  "  Moses,"  again  it  is  that  he  causes  the  light 
from  the  painted  windows  to  fall  upon  the  flags  of 
the  church,  where  Margaret  is  in  the  clutches  of 
remorse.  The  Electric  apparatus  is  sometimes 
placed  on  a  level  with  the  stage,  when  it  is  sought 
to  produce  certain  special  effects,  such  as  that  of 
the  fountain  of  wine  in  Gounod's  opera.  The 
lime-light  is  also  used  to  produce  certain  brilliant 
effects  in  the  new  opera. 

As  we  continue  along  the  Boulevard  des  Ital- 
iens,  our  attention  is  attracted  by  the  popular  res- 
taurant called  the  Maison  Doree,  celebrated  for  its 
fine  cuisine,  and  where  the  fancy  of  both  sexes 
resort  for  supper  after  the  theatres  are  over.  This 
is  one  of  the  few  houses  that  are  allowed  to  remain 
open  all  night.  We  then  pass  in  close  proximity 
the  Cafe  des  Italiens,  Cafe  de  Bade,  Tortoni,  An- 
glais, Riche — all  of  which  are  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated, and  renowned  as  places  where  the  demi- 
monde most  do  congregate.  We  are  still  upon  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  Boulevard,  as  we  have  been 
since  leaving  the  Madeleine.  We  now  enter  the 
Boulevard  Montmartre,  and  pass  the  Cafes  Mazar- 
in,  Cercle,  and,  near  by,  the  Cafe  Garen,  which 


THE   BOULEVARDS.  11 

forms  one  corner  of  the  celebrated  Passage  Jouff- 
roj,  the  favorite  resort  of  fast  women. 

PASSAGES  OR  ARCADES 

Are  quite  an  institution  in  the  French  capital, 
nearly  every  variety  of  goods  can  be  found,  and 
shopping  can  be  done  in  these  in  wet  as  well  as  in 
dry  weather. 

One  peculiar  feature  of  these  arcades  is  that 
each  and  all  of  them  have  invariably  among  their 
inhabitants  a  shoe-black,  a  pastry-cook,  a  tobacco- 
nist, and  a  restaurateur.  The  establishment  of  the 
latter  might  well  afford  the  subject  of  a  series  of 
studies.  Each  passage  having  its  own  particular 
habitues,  the  dinners  supplied  at  the  restaurants  of 
that  arcade  are  suited  to  their  special  taste.  Thus, 
the  Passage  Yero-Dodat  does  not  feed  in  the  same 
style  as  the  passage  des  Panoramas  and  the  res- 
taurateur of  the  Passage  de  FOpera  will  present 
you  with  a  metiu  which  would  be  looked  on  with 
supreme  contempt  by  the  usual  customers  of  the 

PASSAGE  JOUFFROY. 

This  much,  however,  we  can  assert,  that  at  e^ch 
and  every  one  of  these  eating-houses  nothing  is 
wasted; — nothing  is  thrown  away.  Many  of  the 
most  delicate  dishes  are  concocted  with  things 
which  we  would  reject  as  garbage.  The  soups  es- 
pecially, of  which  there  are  as  many  varieties  as 
there  are  departments  in  Prance,  are  compounded 
of  materials  which  we  would  never  dream  of  util- 
izing, yet  the  result  is  delicious.  Indeed,  there  is 
no  part  of  an  animal — horse,  cat,  goat,  sparrow,  or 
frog — out  of  which  one  of  the  third-class  restaura- 
teurs of  Paris  will  not  serve  you  a  savory  dish,  as- 
suring you,  of  course,  that  your  horse-steak  is  the 
best  cut  of  the  jilet  de  boeuf^  that  pussy  is  a  hare, 
that  goat  is  lamb,  and  the  sparrow  a  lark. 


12  THE   BOULEVARDS. 

About  80,000  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  gay  cap- 
ital rise  in  the  morning  without  knowing  where 
or  how  they  are  to  get  a  dinner.  These  poor 
wretches,  who  for  the  greater  part  have  no  regular 
employment,  manage  to  dress  decently  neverthe- 
less, to  keep  up  appearances,  and  between  six  and 
seven  o'clock  you  will  find  them  seated  at  some  of 
the  cheaper  restaurants  enjoying  the  delicacies  of 
a  twenty-five  sous  dinner. 

Walking  along  these  passages  we  could  not  help 
pitying  the  poor  tradesmen  who  are  doomed  to  in- 
habit these  galleries,  to  which  neither  air  nor  sun 
can  penetrate.  For  the  last  two  years  these  glazed 
passages  have  been  multiplied  in  every  part  of 
Paris,  yet  they  are  extremely  unwholesome  for  their 
inhabitants.  Medical  reports  prove  that  the  fami- 
lies who  reside  in  them  become  sooner  or  later 
scrofulous  or  consumptive,  and  that  infants  born 
and  reared  in  them  are  sickly  and  rickety.  It  is 
all  very  well  for  the  stranger  to  visit  these  splendid 
arcades  in  the  afternoon,  or  in  the  evening  when 
brilliantly  illuminated  by  floods  of  gas-light,  re- 
flecting the  glittering  contents  of  the  shop-win- 
dows; but  avoid  scrupulously  entering  these  ar- 
cades between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  when  the  shop-boys  are  dusting  the  doors 
and  window  fronts ;  when  the  stone  or  marble 
pavement  is  being  cleaned ;  when  the  inhabitants 
are  doing  their  best  to  get  a  little  air  into  their 
paltry  lodgings,  which,  viewed  from  outside,  im- 
press one  with  the  idea  of  real  magnificence ;  and 
then  look  at  the  women  who  the  previous  evening 
appeared  to  you  behind  their  counters  fresh  and 
smiling.  Now  their  complexions  are  yellow,  their 
eyes  haggard,  all  bearing  the  unmistakable  mark 
of  persons  who  breathe  the  mephitic  atmosphere 
of  an  enclosed  arcade. 

Before  going  further  up  the  Boulevards,  let  us 
cross  and  enter  the 


THE   BOULEVARDS.  13 

PASSAGE  DES  PANORAMAS, 

Which  is  directly  opposite  that  of  Jouffroy.  In 
it  is  the  Gallery  Montraartre,  where  at  No.  27, 
may  be  found  the  dancing  saloon  of  Markowski. 
Further  mention  of  this  professor  upon  another 
page.  We  continue  our  course  as  before  up  the 
Boulevards  Montmartre,  Poissonniere,  Bonne- 
E"ouvelle,  St.  Denis,  and  St.  Martin;  which  are  all 
in  a  direct  line  with  each  other.  At  the  ternjinus 
of  the  latter  we  pass  the  Place  du  Chateau  d'Eau, 
and,  turning  to  the  right,  enter  the  Boulevards  des 
Filles  du  Calvaire  and  Beaumarchais.  We  arrive 
at  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  and  behold  a  fine  monu- 
ment called  the  Column  of  July,  erected  on  the  site 
of  the  old  prison  of  the  Bastille,  in  memory  of 
those  who  sacrificed  their  lives  in  the  cause  of  lib- 
erty, during  the  three  days  of  the  revolution  which, 
in  1830,  placed  Louis-Philippe  upon  the  throne. 

There  are  several  lines  of  magnificent  Boulevards 
throughout  Paris,  but  the  above  are  the  most  im- 
portant, as  being  ihe  principal  thoroughfares,  as 
well  as  containing  many  of  the  chief  points  of  at- 
traction in  the  metropolis. 

Let  us  retrace  our  steps  by  the  same  route  which 
we  have  just  traversed,  as  far  as  the  Boulevard  St. 
Denis ;  out  of  which,  upon  the  left,  we  turn  down 
the  Boulevard  de  Sebastopol,  until  we  reach  the 
celebrated  Rue  de  Rivoli,  which  we  enter  upon  the 
right  hand.  This  is  one  of  the  finest  streets  in 
Paris,  containing  the  Palace  and  Gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  Hotel  du  Louvre,  &c.  It  is  most  brilliant- 
ly illuminated  at  night  by  thousands  of  gaslights 
along  its  entire  length,  which  is  about  two  miles, 
and,  as  it  is  very  wide  and  straight,  the  effect  is 
exceedingly  fine. 

It  is  also  a  great  thoroughfare,  as  upon  one  side 
are  many  splendid  shops,  arranged  under  a  system 
of  stone  arcades,  each  of  which  contains  a  lighted 
globe,  while  the  light  upon  the  other  side  is  placed 


14  THE  BOULEVARDS. 

immediately  opposite.  Let  us  now  procure  at  the 
Hotel  du  Louvre  au  open  carriage  with  a  dashing 
pair  of  bays,  and  continue  up  the  Eue  de  Eivoli 
and  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  entering  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  where  we  find  a.n  abundance  of  equipages 
— many  of  which  are  the  finest  in  the  world.  Driv- 
ing up  this  elegant  and  fashionable  Avenue,  lined 
upon  both  sides  with  shady  trees,  we  pass  the 
Triumphal  Arch,  and  enter  the  Avenue  de  I'lm- 
peratrice,  which  is  about  a  mile  in  length  and  three 
hundred  feet  in  breadth,  and  find  ourselves  ap- 
proaching the  celebrated 

BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE. 

After  reaching  the  gate  of  the  Porte  Dauphine, 
we  continue  along  the  road  directly  opposite  this 
Avenue,  a  short  distance  upon  the  left  brings  us  to 
the  new  lakes  and  cascade,  which  have  been  ar- 
ranged with  all  the  taste  of  nature  and  art  com- 
bined. Thousands  of  equipages,  each  bearing  its 
living  freight  of  the  monde,  as  well  as  the  demi- 
monde^  drive  around  the  lake,  while,  on  its  silvery 
surface,  glide  gondola-shaped  boats,  festooned  with 
gaily  painted  Chinese  lanterns,  also  marine  veloci- 
pedes, at  the  prow  of  which  are  hung  colored  lamps. 
A  more  fairy-like  scene  on  a  warm  summer's  night 
can  hardly  be  imagined ;  and  thoroughly  to  enjoy 
it  we  recommend  our  readers  to  ferry  across  to  the 
central  island,  where — besides  gay  company — they 
will  be  entertained  at  an  admirable  restaurant. 
Here  the  best  of  ices,  Bavaroises,  &c.,  can  be  had 
but  at  an  exorbitant  price. 

When  tired  of  this  you  can  reenter  your  car- 
riage which  has  awaited  you  on  the  drive,  and,  on 
your  way  back  to  town,  stop  for  a  few  moments 
opposite  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  to  gaze  upon  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  panoramas  to  be  seen  in  any 
capital   of  the  world — the 


THE   BOULEVARDS.  15 

CHAMPS  ELYSEES 

Now  bright  with  the  light  of  a  thousand  gas  jets, 
not  only  blazing  in  a  double  line  along  the  broad 
Avenue,  but  radiant  amongst  the  trees  of  the  va- 
rious cafis  chantants,  which  at  this  hour,  are  crowd- 
ed by  gaily-attired  visitors.  From  the  Obelisk  of 
Luxor  to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  the  usual  summer 
pleasures  are  continued  from  seven  o'clock  until 
midnight,  the  greater  part  of  the  pleasures  of  Paris 
being  concentrated  along  this  brilliant  avenue.  The 
warm  and  lovely  weather  draws  out  enormous 
crowds,  and,  as  soon  as  the  great  majority  can  es- 
cape from  business  cares,  they  hurry  away  to  en- 
joy the  fresh  air  of  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  or  the 
open-air  concerts  of  the  Champs  Ely  sees — and  at 
no  time  do  open  air  dinners  have  a  greater  charm 
than  during  the  first  warm  evenings  of  summer, 
and  the  crowds  that  pour  in  upon  Ledoyan,  care 
little  for  menus  or  sauces,  so  long  as  they  have  the 
blue  sky  above  their  heads,  the  sounds  of  distant 
music  in  their  ears,  and  the  warm  air  of  evening 
at  their  repasts.  Before  this  "  re-awakening  of 
nature,"  as  they  used  to  say  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Hortense,  every  one  feels  an  invincible  need  of 
"/ar  niente^'  and  an  irresistible  desire  to  promenade 
in  the  open  air.  The  inevitable  consequence  is 
a  vast  crowd  in  the  Elysian  Fields  and  a  dense 
throng  upon  both  sides  of  the  Boulevards.  The 
great  bronze  fountains  that  stand  in  the  centre 
of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  have  huge  round 
basins  fifty  feet  in  diameter,  above  which  rise  oth- 
ers of  lesser  size.  Tritons  and  water-nymphs  about 
the  lower  basins  hold  dolphins,  which  spout  streams 
of  water  into  the  upper  ones,  and  at  the  base  sit 
large  granite  figures,  which  the  Parisians  say  do 
well  to  sit  down,  for  if  they  stood  up  they  would 
soon  be  fatigued  by  their  own  weight.  This  ele- 
gant square  is  illuminated  by  twelve  magnificent 
bronze  lampadaries — the  light  of  which,  falling  on 


16  THE  BOULEVARDS. 

tlie  elegant  splashing  fountains,  seems  to  convert 
each  jet  into  a  shower  of  pearls,  and  thus  produces 
a  magic  scene  of  beauty,  which  being  thrown  into 
relief  by  the  grand  old  trees  of  the  Tuileries  Gar- 
dens, is  certainly  one  of  unrivalled  magnificence. 


17 


BALS  MASQUfiS. 


Strangers  flatter  themselves  tliat  they  have  ac- 
quired a  thorough  knowledge  of  Paris  when  they 
have  spent  a  fortnight  doing  the  Louvre,  the  Tuii- 
eries,  the  Tnvalides,  JSTapoleon's  Stables,  the  Sainte 
Chapelle,  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  the  Boule- 
vards. They  believe  they  are  perfectly  acquainted 
with  Parisian  life  when  they  have  smoked  a  dozen 
cigars  in  a  cafe,  when  they  have  dined  at  a  restur- 
aut,  gambled  at  a  club,  danced  at  Mabille,  con- 
versed with  their  next  neighbor  in  a  railway  car- 
riage, bargained  at  a  shop,  or  lounged  along  the 
trottoirs.  We  maintain,  that  of  all  cities  in  Europe, 
Paris  is  the  most  difficult  to  know  au  bout  da  dolgt, 
and  that  of  all  people  on  the  globe  Parisians  are 
the  most  Sphinx-like. 

Paris  possesses  the  marvellous  privilege  of  being 
ever  new,  ever  different,  ever  presenting  fresh  ma- 
terial for  study  and  investigation  ;  never  the  same, 
and  never  monotonous.  The  Parisian  of  the  Bou- 
levard des  Italiens  bears  no  more  affinity  to  the 
denizen  of  the  Quartier  Latin  than  the  Frenchman 
of  Tours  does  to  the  citizen  of  Marseilles.  Paris 
is  a  kaleidoscope,  presenting  the  strangest  contra- 
dictions— the  most  startling  incongruities,  changing 
at  the  corner  of  every  street,  at  the  turn  of  every 
avenue,  nay,  at  the  entrance  of  every  house,  and 
therefore  affording  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  curious 
and  useful  subjects  of  observation.  It  may  be  pain- 
ful to  see  the  wounds  of  society  laid  bare,  yet  if  we 


18  BALS   MASQUES. 

wisli  to  derive  correct  information,  to  devise  a 
remedy  or  effect  a  cure,  the  operation  must  be 
borne  To  trace  the  origin  of  a  pestilence  we  de- 
scend into  the  very  sewers  of  a  city,  and  if  we 
would  discover  the  cause  of  the  turpitude  which 
affects  the  moral  atmosphere  around  us,  we  must 
look  far  beneath  the  mere  surface  of  town  life. 
The  fastidious  habits  of  polished  society  generally 
incline  us  to  reject,  as  unworthy  our  notice,  what- 
ever relates  to  the  dark  and  dismal  elements  of 
"low  life."  A  true  philanthropist  will,  however, 
prefer  reality  to  fiction — the  faithful  picture  to  the 
fancy  sketch.  The  Spartiates,  when  they  wished  to 
inculcate  sobriety  on  their  sons,  did  not  hesitate  to 
exhibit  before  them  the  revolting  spectacle  of  de- 
bauchery in  one  of  its  most  hideous  forms.  Inspired 
with  the  same  object,  we  now  wish  the  reader  to 
accompany  us  to  a  hot  masque,  such  as  are  given  at 
the  Opera  in  Paris. 

The  clock  of  the  Opera  has  struck  three.  The 
ball  has  reached  the  culminating  point  of  excite- 
ment. We  enter.  It  is  difficult  to  picture  a  scene 
more  curious  and  more  startling  than  this  vast  am- 
phitheatre presents,  with  its  thousands  of  maskers 
arrayed  in  their  sprightly  fantastic  dresses.  Pre- 
dominant among  the  medley  are  the  traditional 
Titis,  the  polichinelles,  harlequins,  and  dcbardeurs. 
The  frightful  velocity  with  which  these  votaries  of 
Terpischore  whirl- themslves  through  the  mazes 
of  the  waltz,  polka,  mazurka,  &c.,  is  bewildering  to 
the  eye,  and  some  time  must  elapse  before  the  vis- 
itor is  able  to  distinguish  the  idiosyncracy  of  each 
group.  The  mighty  Strauss  raises  his  magic  wand, 
and  the  quadrille  of  the  "Belle  Helene"  strikes  up 
immediately^  followed  by  the  maddening  strains  of 
the  grand  galop,  when  literally  the  powerful  or- 
chestra is  drowned  by  the  shouts,  the  wild  cheers, 
the  fantastic  yells  of  the  whirling  masses.  A  more 
noisy,   tumultuous     rabble,   cannot  be   imagined. 


BALS   MASQUES.  19 

Vainly  do  the  Gar des-de- Paris  attempt  to  control 
the  mad  delirium  of  this  dancing,  jolting,  screech- 
ing, squeaking  mob. 

If,  by  one  of  those  incantation  scenes  one  reads 
of  in  fiction,  one  could  evoke  a  stately  Marquise 
of  the  Court  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  and  place 
her  in  the  midst  of  this  infernal  tohu — bohu^  her 
amazement  would  not  be  slight  at  beholding  the 
costumes  of  her  times — her  hoops,  the  brocades, 
and  the  coiffures  adopted  by  the  cooks,  washer- 
women, lorettes,  calicots,  and  gaiidins  of  the  day; 
-costumes  not  purchased,  and  on  the  hiring  of  which 
a  year's  savings  has  probably  been  recklessly  lav- 
ished. Fast  men,  low  prostitutes,  young  servant 
girls,  grisettes  and  cocottes,  alone  amalgamate  at 
tiiese  diabolic^d  orgies,  which,  on  Shrove  Tuesday, 
not  only  take  place  at  the  Opera,  but  at  no  less 
than  one  thousand  two  hundred  places  of  public 
entertainment  in  Paris!  From  these  hells  the  mas- 
kers emerge  on  the  dawn  of  Ash  Wednesday, 
with  their  costumes  in  tatters,  their  eyes  sunk, 
their  lips  swollen,  and  uttering  the  vilest  impreca- 
tions on  all  that  is  sacred  ;  cursing  father,  wife,  or 
mother,  and  shouting  with  tipsy  intonations,  the 
signifiicant  inquiry  of  the  gamins  in  "  La  Famille 
Benoitim,"  "  Et  ta  Soeur." 

And  now  does  the  reader  wish  to  know  where 
these  men  and  women  of  all  nations,  of  all  ranks, 
of  all  classes  resort  to  when  they  quit  these  scenes 
of  dissipation  and  licentiousness  ?  Winding  along 
the  street,  or  rather,  along  the  gutter,  singing, 
howling,  grimacing,  and  swearing  at  the  few  pas- 
sers-by who  may  be  going  to  their  early  day's  work, 
they  enter  the  cabinets  particuliers  of  the  innumer- 
able restaurants  and  cafes  of  Paris,  where  they 
Unally  drown  in  champagne  the  last  gleam  of  in- 
tellect which  may  yet  remain  to  them.  The  sun  of 
Ash  Wednesday  breaks  upon  a  sad  spectacle.  The 
tast  man  of  the  day  awakens  to  find  himself  over- 


20  BALS   MASQUES. 

whelmed   by  writs   and   assignations.     The   poor 

seamstress,  whom  the  ghtter  of  the  ball  attracted 
from  her  home,  has  not  a  loaf  of  bread  on  her 
dresser,  nor  a  sou  in  her  drawer ;  and  in  the  man- 
sarde^  hard  by,  is  a  group  of  starving  little  ones, 
vainly  crying,  with  pinching  hunger,  after  their 
mother,  who,  probably,  has  been  taken  up  for  dis- 
orderly conduct,  and  is,  with  hundreds  of  others, 
awaiting,  in  the  police  lock-up,  her  turn  to  be  sum- 
moned before  the  commissaire  de  police  ! 

I  once  knew  a  boy  of  eighteen,  as  handsome  and 
gifted  a  young  fellow  as  one  would  wish  to  meet, — 
open-hearted  and  intelligent.  He  was  the  eldest 
son  of  an  Enghsh  peer,  and  had  been  sent  to  Paris 
to  study  French.  He  heard  of  the  Bals  de  I'Opera 
described  in  glowing  colors,  and  vainly  endeav- 
oured to  obtain  his  tutor's  permission  to  attend  one. 
A  napoleon  given  to  a  servant  enabled  him  to  es- 
cape from  the  house ;  to  hire  a  costume  was  easy 
work,  and  was  quickly  done.  Within  an  hour  of 
his  flight  he  was  whirling  in  the  maze  of  the 
"  Yalse  du  Diable,"  A  well-known  creature  had 
seized  upon  him  and  made  him  an  easy  prey. 
Under  her  able  tutelage,  he  was  soon  initiated  into 
the  hideous  mysteries  of  depravity,  such  as  even 
novel  reading  had  failed  to  reveal  to  him. 

Missed  by  his  tutor,  notice  was  given  to  the  po- 
lice, and  instant  search  was  made  for  him.  The 
wretched  victim  was  discovered  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing, lying  helpless  and  alone  on  the  floor  of  a  gild- 
ed and  mirrored  cabinet  jxcrticulier,  amidst  fragments 
of  torn  lace,  crushed  bouquets,  velvet  masks,  and 
broken  bottles.  They  had  made  the  most  of  their 
time,  his  companions.  During  this  night  of  brutal 
sport  and  low  debauchery,  he  had  signed  promis- 
sory notes,  and  parted  with  his  watch,  chain,  rings, 
and  studs.  The  course  he  entered  on  that  fatal 
night,  he,  alas,  continued,  and  he  is  now  a  hopeless 
idiot,  travelling  under  the  charge  of  keepers,  vain- 


BALS   MASQUES.  21 

ly  seeking  amidst  the  varied  scenes  of  nature  that 
peace  of  mind  which  has,  apparently,  fled  for  ever 
from  his  grasp. 

The  snow  of  a  few  winters  only  has  fallen  on 
the  grave  of  the  young  seamstress,  whose  tragic 
fate  would  long  since  have  been  forgotten  but  for 
the  poet  Eniile  Deschamps,  who  wrote  on  her 
touching  story  those  charming  lines,  entitled 
*'  Morte  pour  les  Amuser.'^  She  had  the  fatal  gift 
of  beauty.  One  bright  morning  as  she  passed 
along  the  quays  to  her  daily  work,  she  was  re- 
marked by  two  young  noblemen  returning  home, 
their  pockets  full  of  gold,  after  a  night  of  dissipa- 
tion and  gambling.  Again  and  again  they  crossed 
her  path  at  the  same  hour.  She  believed  herself 
beloved.  The  gold,  her  smiles  purchased,  would 
bring  comfort  and  ease  to  the  miserable  garret 
where  dwelt  her  blind  old  flither,  an  old  soldier  of 
the  First  Empire. 

She  was,  at  their  orgies,  the  Queen  of  ^ight. 
It  was  a  new  excitement  for  her  lovers  to  watch 
her  child-like  countenance  flushed  with  the  fumes 
of  rich  wine  she  had  never  before  tasted.  Her 
dishevelled  hair,  as  it  lay  in  golden  masses  on  the 
violet  of  their  satin  sofas,  was  a  new  effect;  and 
for  these  licentious  men  it  was  glorious  sport  to 
hear  issue  from  the  lips  of  this  unfortunate  creat- 
ure language  as  vile  as  their  own,  but  of  which 
she  hardly  understood  the  import.  Two  or  three 
months  elapsed,  and  they  were  tired  of  the  poor 
girl.  She  must  be  got  rid  of.  One  of  them  knew 
of  a  capital  receipt.  Mix  in  her  glass  of  Sauterne 
equal  portions  of  kirsch  and  rum.  It  had  made 
the  brain  of  many  a  duchess  whirl.  Give  her  this, 
and  let  us  take  her  to  the  bed  de  Vopera.  Musard'a 
rapturous  orchestra  will  do  the  rest.  An  hour 
and  the  experiment  succeeded.  She  was  in  the 
hands  of  three  sergents-de-ville,  kicking,  screaming, 
yelling,  to  the  shouts  of  laughter  of  her  betrayers, 


22  BALS    MASQUES. 

who,  to  see  tlie  end,  followed  the  cab,  wberehi  lay 
their  miserable  victim,  to  the  next  station-house. 
The  intense  cold  of  a  winter's  night  struck  on  her, 
and  suddenly  brought  back  her  senses.  She  recog- 
nized her  position ;  saw  before  her  the  police-court, 
the  interrogation  of  a  magistrate.  She  grew  pale, 
and  trembled  at  the  disclosures  she  would  have  to 
make,  and  at  the  perspective  of  her  being  hence- 
forth registered  on  the  police  books.  On  the  way 
to  the  commissalre  de  looUce  the  cab  passed  before 
her  father's  lodging.  She  begged  for  leave  to  go 
np  to  her  room  for  an  instant  to  change  her  Pom- 
padour disguise  for  garments  more  suitable  to  her 
appearing  before  the  Bar — granted.  Two  sergents 
followed  her  to  the  fourth  etage,  and  waited  outside. 
She  sprang  to  the  window.  "My  father,  brave 
old  soldier,  who,  though  blind,  has  taken  care  of 
me  from  the  day  of  my  birth;  no,"  she  exclaimed, 
*'  never  shall  he  know  my  shame."  And  as  a 
party  of  gay  revellers  trooped  from  the  hal  de  Vop- 
ira  that  morning,  the  Pierrots^  the  Don  Juans,  the 
marquises,  the  poissardes  had  to  step  aside  in  the 
presence  of  the  corpse  of  the  Pompadour,  lying 
crushed  and  dead  on  the  pavement  of  the  street. 
£lle  etail  morte  pour  les  amuser ! 

It  is  somewhat  startling  to  turn  over  the  pages 
of  the  account-book  in  which  the  expenses  of  each 
ball  given  at  the  Opera  are  registered.  The  aver- 
age sum  spent  by  the  managers  amounts  to  £5,600 
an  evening,  ^o  fewer  than  780  individuals  are 
employed.  In  one  night,  1,850  wax-lights  are 
consumed,  besides  210  lamps  and  5,600  gaslights. 
The  attendance  usually  consists  of  5,000  individ- 
uals, of  whom  2,600  are  men  ;  8,200  francs  are 
spent  every  ball  night  on  the  purchase  of  masks ; 
3,500  francs  on  hiring  costumes;  24,000  francs  on 
satin  shoes;  3,600  francs  on  coiffeurs ;  10,000  francs 
on  gloves;  6,000  francs  on  fans,  &c.  The  police 
reports  prove  that  500  private  carriages  and  3,400 


BALS   MASQUES.  23 

cabs  deposit  maskers  at  the  entrance  door  of  the 
Opera.  The  contractors  for  the  refreshments  take 
18,750  francs  per  night,  &c. 

The  staff"  of  police  constantly  on  duty  in  the 
streets  of  Paris  during  the  Carnival,  the  large  num- 
ber of  punishable  offences  committed  within  or 
close  to  the  precincts  of  the  Opera,  the  scenes  of 
reeling  intoxication  which  occur  on  every  night, 
furnish  ample  proof  of  the  demoralizing  effect  of 
these  annual  festivals.  Thousands  of  both  sexes 
date  their  physical  as  well  as  moral  ruin  from  one 
of  these  Bacchanalian  orgies,  which  deaden  every 
delicate  feeling  and  implant  licentiousness,  intem- 
perance, and  dissipation  of  every  kind. 

Most  of  the  Carnavaliseurs  are  compelled  on  Ash 
Wednesday  to  liquidate  the  debts  incurred  on 
Mardi  Gras,  and  it  is  a  known  fact  that  the  police, 
the  burial  companies,  the  doctors,  have  never  so 
much  to  do  as  during  the  Carnival.  The  amount 
of  rings,  brooches,  watches,  earrings,  studs,  brace- 
lets, and  false  hair  lost  on  these  nights  of  junketing, 
debauchery,  and  brutality,  at  the  different  casinos, 
restaurants,  and  cafes,  amount  to  more  than  4,000 
francs.  These,  if  picked  up  by  honest  persons,  are 
taken  to  the  Bureau  des  Objets  Trouves  where  they 
may  be  claimed  by  their  respective  owners.  But 
how  much  is  lost  on  one  of  these  days  of  voluptu 
ous  festivities  that  can  never  be  restored — health, 
probity,  virtue,  honesty  —  these  are  ohjeis  joerdus 
which  have  never  been  registered  on  the  books  of 
the  Bureau  des  Objets  Trouves. 


LE  DEMI-MOI^DE. 


The  idiosyncracy  of  the  world,  of  which  Alex- 
ander Dumas  ^?5  maybe  said  to  be  the  Christopher 
Columbus  has  totally  changed  since  the  days  when 
Paul  de  Kock  was  its  historiographer.  The  grisetfe, 
whose  type  he  so  admirably  depicted,  has  disap- 
peared. She  was  modest,  fresh,  and  spirUuelle;  she 
well  knew  that  many  a  millionaire  could  have  paid 
her  kisses  in  diamonds,  but  she  loved  her  penniless 
student,  made  his  mansarde  ring  with  her  merry 
laugh,  sewed  the  missing  buttons  on  his  shirts,  and 
saved  the  money  he  would  otherwise  have  spent  in 
gambling.  For  all  this  she  expected  him  to  take 
her  on  Sundays,  or  of  an  evening,  to  the  bal  Willis, 
or  the  Chaumiere.  In  spite  of  temptation  her  love 
was  his ;  and  his  comrades  obtained  naught  from 
her  but  a  piquant  repartee  or  a  saucy  laugh. 

In  Henri  Murgers'  '^  Vie  de  Boheme,"  an  inimit- 
able sketch  of  artist  life,  will  also  be  found  the 
grisette,  of  the  epoch — the  faithful,  poetic  Minii — 
wliose  most  brilliant  toilette  was  a  freshly-ironed 
muslin  ;  gay  and  joyous  when  a  picture  was  sold, 
which  had  brought  gold  into  the  studio,  and  cheer- 
ful still  when  its  light-hearted  tenants  had  found 
content,  and  their  hungry  stomachs  satisfied  by  the 
crust  of  an  evening's  supper.  In  the  Quartier 
Latin  a  few  of  this  type  may  yet  be  found ;  but  they 
are  rare.  The  increasing  luxury  of  the  times  intro- 
duced another  and  far  less  attractive  class,  which 
assumed  the  title  of  loretie,  from  the  fact  of  their 


LE   DEMI-MONDE.  25 

leader  having  selected  the  Quartier  Breda  as  their 
place  of  abode — of  which  l^otre  Dame  de  Lorette 
is  the  parochial  church.  This  change  may  be  at- 
tributed to  the  influence  of  speculation  on  society. 
Wealth  suddenly  acquired  induces  vice.  The  man 
who  had  won  a  million  by  a  speculation  during  the 
revolution  of  1848,  must  have  his  mistress  attired 
in  silk,  and  enveloped  in  splendid  cashmeres.  A 
class  of  women  sprang  up  whose  bold  and  flaunting 
type  was  reproduced  on  the  stage  in  the  "Filles 
de  Marbre." 

Biche  was  one  of  the  appellations  bestowed  on 
them,  to  which  their  present  title  of  cocotte  has 
succeeded.  Alexander  Dumas  fils  first  poetized  this 
class  of  prostitutes  in  his  "Dame  aux  Camelias;" 
since  which  inimitable  piece  dramatic  authors  have 
made  their  favorite  subject  for  the  stage,  and  there- 
by realizing  immense  fortunes,  inasmuch  as  they 
thus  pander  to  the  taste  of  the  day.  Yictorien 
Sardou,  in  his  "Famille  Benoiton/'  continued  the 
line  Alexander  Dumas  fils  inaugurated,  and  by  his 
satire  of  the  extravagant  and  tasteless  costumes  of 
the  heroines  of  his  pieces,  attracted  women  belong- 
ing to  the  upper  ten  thousand  of  Paris  society,  who 
not  only  applauded  his  picture  of  life,  which  natn- 
rally  excited  their  jealousy  and  curiosity,  but  in 
their  own  dress  imitated  these  queens  of  prostitu- 
tion. 

In  former  days,  women  of  rank  gave  the  tone  and 
dictated  fashion  to  society.  Within  the  past  ten 
years  their  role  has  changed,  and  stepping  down 
from,  their  high  estate,  they  copy  the  dress,  imitate 
t'he  manners,  and  vie  in  the  reckless  extravagance 
of  their  rivals  of  the  demi-monde;  gradually,  but 
surely  plunging  deep  in  debt.  Their  husbands' 
money  cannot  last ;  they  sink  to  a  position  perhaps 
socially,  but  not  morally,  superior  to  the  cocottes  of 
the  Quartier  Breda.  Sketched  to  the  following 
illustration  is  this  feature  of  Parisian  society,  drawn 


26  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

by  the  able  pen  of  Ivan  de  Westyne,  who  thus  re- 
lates the  following  story  of  a  young  married  woman 
launched  on  the  shallow  seas  of  fashionable  life 
in  Paris : — 

Her  husband  is  liberal ;  his  income  is  four  thous- 
and a  year,  and  he  allows  her  six  hundred  pin- 
money.  The  tremendous  expense  of  the  toilettes 
worn  in  society  excites  her  ambition ;  her  jitpe 
trains  must  be  as  long;  her  jooint  cVAlengon  tunics 
exquisite;  her  diamond  aigrettes  of  as  pure  water 
as  are  those  of  her  friends.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
season  she  is  in  debt ;  but  she  frankly  confesses 
her  difficulty,  and  her  husband  pays.  They  go  to 
Trouville.  Three  toilettes  a  day  are  then  indispen- 
sable.    She  must  dress  as  well  as  the  Marquise  de 

,  or  the  Countess  C ,  or  she  will  no 

longer  hriller.  By  ]S"ew  Year's  Day,  the  young  wife 
finds  she  has  a  second  time  outspent  her  allowance; 
but  again  the  husband  pays.  In  a  few  months  the 
scene  is  reenacted;  but  this  time  it  is  serious.  He 
signs  a  check,  but  in  a  decided  manner  tells  her 
that  this  state  of  things  must  come  to  an  end.  He 
has  three  times  paid  exorbitant  bills;  he  will  not  do 
so  again ;  and  now  commences  the  drama. 

The  world  and  its  inexorable  exigences  claim 
her  for  its  own.  Madame  must  appear  everywhere 
and  in  every  salon,  if  not  outshine,  at  least  equal  in 
splendour  and  variety  the  toilets  of  her  rivals. 
She  is  admired,  but  as  yet  she  is  honest.  The  fatal 
E'ew  Year  returns  ;  bills  pour  in ;  she  knows  not 
where  to  turn  for  help ;  her  creditors  claim  their 
money,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  young  life  she 
is  addressed  in  a  tone  of  insolence.  At  this  crisis 
a  visitor  is  announced.  It  proves  to  be  a  certain 
marquise,  a  woman  of  authentic  rank — a  beauty  of 
some  twenty  seasons  back — to  be  met  with  in  the 
most  exclusive  salons — whose  true  name  ought  to 
be  Proxinete.  She  is  perhaps  fifty,  admirably  pre- 
served, excessively   agreeable,  and   acquainted  to 


LE   DEMI-MOXDE.  27 

a  franc  with  the  fortune  of  every  man  in  Paris — as 
well  as  of  the  exact  amount  every  young  woman  of 
the  world  owes  her  dressmaker.  Her  husband  is 
sick  and  tired  of  society ;  she  goes  out  alone.  You 
meet  her  at  official  dinners  and  at  ^^e^i/s  soupers,  and 
her  name  constantly  appears  as  patroness  of  charity 
balls.  At  the  doors  of  fashionable  chapels,  she 
may  often  be  seen  in  sumptuous  apparel,  in  spite 
of  her  naTrow  income,  acting  as  queiease.  Note 
that  the  precise  amount  dropped  by  good  souls  into 
her  crimson  velvet  bag  can  never  be  tested.  Suffice 
it  that  she  sends  in  next  morning  her  collection  to 
M.  le  Care.  Her  rank  is  undoubted  ;  but  then  she 
is  poor,  and  is  it  not  fair  that  she  should  share  with 
other  poor  the  result  of  her  devotion  ? 

The  Proxinete  has  timed  her  visit  well.  She  is 
in  tears  ;  her  young  friend,  herself  in  difficulty,  all 
the  more  ready  to  sympathize.  ''  What  can  I  do 
for  you?"  "Much,"  replies  the  wily  Marquise; 
"my  husband's  promotion  depends  on  a  good  word 
from  M ,  the  banker.  I  cannot  go  alone  to  in- 
tercede with  M.  le  Ministre.  A  word  from  you  will 
suffice.  Pray  accompany  me.  What  harm  can  it 
do  you  ?  " 

The  young  woman  is  amiable,  and  glad  to  es- 
cape for  an  hour  from  her  own  cares,  assents.  The 
thoughts  of  her  debts  now  keep  her  awake  at 
night.     She  reflects.     She  has  repeated  her  visit, 

and  found  M so  kind;  he  has  even  talked 

to  her  about  money,  and  how  gladly  he  would  lend 
a  mere  trifle — a  couple  of  thousand — to  the  first 
who  asked  him.  Two  thousand  pounds!  It  would 
more  than  clear  her  debts ;  and  then  she  would 
persuade  her  husband  to  take  her  to  the  country, 
and  never  again  run  up  a  bill.  Two  thousand 
pounds  to  be  had  for  asking  ! 

But  morning  comes,  and  the  young  wife  hesi- 
tates and  shrinks.  An  impatient  creditor — sent 
probably  by  the  Marquise  —  is  announced.      He 


28  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

threatens  to  send  the  bill  to  her  husband.  This 
decides  her.  She  dresses  —  she  makes  herself 
beautiful.  As  she  crosses  her  dining-room,  she 
swallows  a  glass  of  liqueur  ;  with  a  swimming  head 
she  quits  her  hotel  and  jumps  into  a  cab.  Arrived 
at  M And  where  now  are  her  vis- 
ions of  retiring  to  the  country.     M insists 

on  meeting  her  in  the  world,  and  therefore  she 
must  dress  with  more  splendour  than  before. 
Seamstresses  are  no  longer  her  only  creditors ;  the 
Marquise  is  insatiable  •  her  ladies'  maid,  now  her 
confidente,  is  rapacious.  She  must  pay  without  hes- 
itation; she  must  lie  without  scruple.  The  two 
thousand  vanishes.  Her  life  is  a  torture.  She  re- 
solves to  put  an  end  to  it,  and  persuades  her  hus- 
band to  take  her  to  the  country. 

But  a  week  has  not  elapsed  ere  the  village  post- 
office  is  deluged  by  letters  for  Madame,  poste  res- 
tante.  Each  letter  contains  an  imperative  command 
from  M ,  the  banker.  He  insists  on  her  re- 
turn; he  requires  her  presence.  His  wretched 
victim  invents  a  history  about  a  sick  friend,  or  a 
country  aunt  suddenly  arrived  in  Paris,  and  she 
starts.  The  hated  banker  awaits  her  at  the  first 
station.  He  can  no  longer  permit  the  presence  of 
her  husband,  and  insists  on  his  absence.  It  be- 
comes her  task  to  induce  him  to  shoot  in  Algeria, 
or  fish  in  Norway.  The  young  wife,  alone  writh- 
ing under  the  yoke  she  has  voluntarily  assumed, 
meets  a  younger  and  more  attractive  admirer — but 
he  is  poor.  The  menage  counted  three — husband, 
wife,  and  paying  lover ;  to  these  is  now  added  the 
paid  admirer. 

Meanwhile,  debts  accumulate  with  frightful  ra- 
pidity. She  finds  another  banker;  then  a  third. 
The  number  of  her  male  visitors  increases,  and  in 
exact  proportion  diminishes  that  of  her  female 
friends.  Her  story  is  now  a  secret  only  to  her 
husband.     Certain  salons  are  closed  to  her.     At 


LE   DEMI-MONDE.  29 

last  the  fatal  hour  arrives,  and  lier  husband's  eyes 
are  opened. 

But  there  exists  another  and  more  criminal 
phase  of  social  life.  The  results  of  these  un conju- 
gal unions  must  be  done  away  with.  Delpeche 
and  her  three  associates  of  Mantauban  have  repre- 
sentatives in  Paris,  who,  for  a  hundred  guineas, 
w^ill  blot  out  as  many  existences  as  may  prove  in- 
convenient mementos  of  the  past. 

Curious  details  are  given  of  the  man  milliner, 
whose  tea  parties  to  ambassadresses  and  duchesses 
have  already  been  spoken  of.  One  anecdote  of 
that  gentleman  is  worth  giving.  A  duchess,  whose 
cards  were  out  for  a  ball,  went  to  him  and  im- 
plored him  to  invent  a  perfectly  new  costume  for 
her.  He  consented;  and  stipulated,  moreover, 
that  the  ''creation"  (the  term  is  correct)  should 
be  supplied  gratis  on  the  receipt  of  an  invitation 
for  his  wife.  That  personage  appeared  at  the 
Duchess'  ball,  and,  it  is  said,  was  dressed  in  better 
taste  than  her  husband's  customers.  As  specimens 
of  his  bills,  two  are  given;  the  sum  total  of  one  is 
£12,520.  This  has  been  settled;  and,  oh  !  mirahile 
dictii,  by  the  lady's  husband.  Another  of  £26,000, 
to  be  paid  by  an  admirer  is  yet  due.  This  sketch, 
loathsome  though  it  be,  is  not  exaggerated.  It  is 
a  photograph  of  Paris  life,  in  the  salons  of  the 
great  world,  amongst  the  results  of  this  state  of 
society,  in  the  "  upper  ten  thousand," — suicides 
and  imprisonments  may  be  quoted. 

It  is  but  a  few  weeks  since  all  Paris  rang  with 
the  story  of  an  officer,  quartered  in  the  Imperial 
barracks,  who  in  presence  of  his  mistress,  the  Mar- 
quise de  F ,  put  an  end  to  his  life.     To  gratify 

her  taste  for  diamonds  and  laces  this  wretched 
man  had  taken  money  committed  to  his  charge  for 
regimental  purposes.  The  Marquise  had  given 
her  word  that  she  merely  accepted  the  money  as  a 
loan,  and  would  repay  him  on  such  a  day  and  at 


30  LE   DExAII-MONDE. 

such  an  hour.  On  a  Sunday,  the  guilty  couple 
met  at  the  Church  of  St.  Siilpice  ;  there  she  quiet- 
ly informed  her  lover  that  her  banker  had  refused 
to  advance  her  the  borrowed  money.  Her  lover 
induced  her  to  accompany  him  to  his  barrack 
room.  Here,  after  an  hour,  it  is  supposed,  of  ten- 
der interview,  the  man  ruined  in  honor,  and  bank- 
rupt in  fortune,  blew  out  his  brains. 

But  a  fortnight  elapsed,  when  this  tragedy  was 
succeeded  by  another  s.candal.  Two  ladies  of 
highly  respectable  position,  received  in  the  great 
world,  and  of  considerable  personal  attractions, 
were  detected  in  the  act  of  stealing  a  piece  of  val- 
uable lace  in  a  shop,  and  were  fully  committed  for 
trial,  and  are  now  awaiting  their  sentence.  But 
enough  of  the  grand-monde,  to  which  we  have  mere- 
ly alluded,  to  convey  a  correct  idea  of  the  immense 
influence  which  the  demi-monde  has  of  late  acquired 
in  this  capital. 

The  demi-monde  consist,  as  I  have  before  stated, 
of  cocoties.  Their  protectors,  in  Paris  slang,  are 
called  eocodes.  These  are  usually  Jils  de  famille  ; 
young  aristocrats  with  well-filled  purses,  empty 
brains,  and  egregious  vanit}^.  Among  them  are 
Russian  princes,  English  dukes,  and  American 
millionaires,  who  have  come  to  Paris  to  see  life, 
spend  money,  and  ruin  themselves  in  the  shortest 
possible  time.  The  cocotte  is  an  animal  ever  ready 
for  a  new  victim  ;  sacrificing  everything  and  every 
body  in  her  lust  for  gold;  her  thirst  is  intolerable. 
To  quench  it,  Chateau-Lafitte,  champagne,  and 
cognac,  do  not  sufiice ;  absinthe  alone  keeps  up 
the  nervous  excitement  her  life  necessitates. 

On  becoming  a  member  of  the  demi-monde^  she 
drops  her  family  name  and  is  christened  anew. 
Thus  we  have  now  fiourishing  in  Paris  the  golden 
haired  Cora  Pearl,  the  dark-eyed  Fleur-de-Kob- 
lesse,  the  graceful  and  witty  Blanche  d'Antigny, 
and  scores'of  Mesdemoiselles  Georgette,  Rosalind, 


LE  demi-mo::tde.  31 

&c.,  whose  true  names  are  utterly  sunk  in  their 
newly-acquired  patronymic.  -N'ow  if  cocotte  has 
played  her  cards  well,  she  has  secured  a  wealthy 
banker,  of  a  certain  age,  as  a  lover  en  tUre,  on  whom 
she  mercilessly  sepeculates  for  the  benefit  of  her 
younger  and  more  agreeable  adorer.  She  may  be 
seen  every  afternoon  during  the  winter,  between 
three  and  four,  comfortably  ensconced  in  her 
brougham,  of  which  the  chocolate  satin  lining  ad- 
mirably becomes  her  complexion,  which  thanks  to 
unlimited  poudre  de  riz  and  fard  a  la  Ninon  de  V  En- 
close is  of  a  rose  and  white  which  defies  nature  it- 
self to  rival.  In  summer  the  cocotte  requires  air, 
and,  moreover,  her  trailing  silks,  h.QY  jpoint  d'  Alen- 
qon,  her  plumed  hat,  her  coral  mounted  parasol, 
must  be  seen  to  be  enjoyed ;  she  therefore,  with 
her  sister  dames  da  lac,  reclines  in  a  basket  car- 
riage, drawn  by  thoroughbred  ponies,  and  driven 
by  a  tiny  postilion,  whose  velvet  jacket  fits  as  per- 
fectly as  his  mistress'  faultless  satin  boot. 

Slowl}^  she  drives  round  the  mimic  lake,  and  per- 
haps in  passing  a  group  of  young  exquisites  you 
may  hear  a  few  words  exchanged — "  a  ce  soif' — 
from  behind  the  moustache  a  la  capoul  of  some 
booby- faced  idiot,  who  believes  the  entree  to  her 
boudoirs  a  privilege  bestowed,  as  an  involuntary 
homage  to  his  own  superlative  merits,  instead  of 
its  being  a  tribute  to  his  reputation  for  being  easily 
befooled  out  of  his  hereditary  entail. 

Her  apartment  furnished  by  the  upholsterer  who 
decorated  the  sumptuous  hotel  of  her  antique  but 
wealthy  lover,  is  tapisse  with  black  satin  embossed 
])y  tufts  of  colored  silks.  Rose  silk  curtains,  veiled 
Avith  white  lace,  cast  a  delicate  light  on  her  com- 
plexion; whilst  her  di-aperies  are  thrown  out  in 
strong  relief  by  the  sable  hue  she  has  selected  for 
her  furniture.  Her  dinner  parties  are  composed 
of  the  elite  of  the  male  world.  An  immense  sheet 
of  plate  glass  separates  her  dining  room  from  the 


82  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

first  salon;  thus  the  two  apartments  appear  to 
form  one  vast  salle^  illuminated  by  the  soft  light  of 
eighteen  or  twenty  rose-shaded  lamps,  for,  needless 
to  remark,  a  cocotte  of  the  class  of  which  I  am  now 
writing,  would  never  permit  a  jet  of  gas  to  strike  a 
harsh  glare  on  her  whitened  shoulders  or  peach- 
like cheek.  Cocotte  gives  two,  if  not  three,  balls 
during  the  season  ;  announcing  her  intention  so  to 
do  in  the  Figaro  and  sometimes  in  the  Gaulois. 
To  these  she  invites  her  sister  dames  du  lac,  who 
will  arrive  escorted  by  their  respective  trains  of  ti- 
tled adorers,  literary  admirers,  and  real  lovers. 

At  these  balls  you  must  not  expect,  if  you  are 
sufficiently  rich  to  have  secured  the  good  graces 
of  one  of  the  envites,  to  see  the  cancan.  A  certain 
decorum  will  surprise  the  uninitiated ;  the  list  of 
dances  will  comprise  the  cotillon,  redowa,  mazur- 
ka, and  lancers,  which  will  be  executed  without 
the  gymnastic  eccentricities  which  I  shall  attempt 
to  describe  in  their  appropriate  place.  The  sup- 
per, usually  served  at  two,  and  which  lasts  until 
six  or  seven,  is  of  the  most  sumptuous  description. 
Perdreaux  truffes,  cailles  au  gratin,  boudins  a  la  Hick- 
elieu,  sole  aux  creveties,  are  the  least  of  the  delicacies 
which  cover  the  flower  decorated  table;  while 
champagne,  Moet,  Cliquot,  Bouzy  rouge,  Chateau 
Laffitte,  Pomard,  &e.,  flow  in  sparkling,  foaming 
torrents,  from  silver-capped  bottles,  into  gilt  and 
richly  colored  glasses,  quaffed  w^hile  one  of  the 
guests  sings  some  favorite  song,  in  the  refrain  of 
which,  the  voices  of  all  the  gay  and  jovial  com- 
pany join,  with  an  en  train  peculiar  to  orgies  such 
as  these. 

But  it  is  seven  in  the  morning;  the  sun  streams 
in  on  withered  flowers,  smashed  glass,  broken  fans, 
torn  lace,  and  faded  rouge  encircling  sunken  eyes. 
The  fast  company,  after  a  final  toast  to  their  host- 
ess, disperse  to  meet  the  following  day  at  the  race- 
course of  Longchamps,  or  in  the  evening  at  a  first 


LE   DEMI-MONDE.  33 

representation  of  Sardon's  or  Alexander  Dumas' 
last  piece,  where,  in  a  baignoire,  at  the  Palais-Royal, 
the  Varietes,  the  Lyriqae,  or  at  the  Italiens  and  the 
Grand-Opera,  Cocotte,  behind  the  discreetly  shad- 
ing curtain  of  her  loge,  endures  the  company  of  her 
venerable  protector,  and  in  his  temporary  absence, 
welcomes  the  circle  of  her  younger  and  more  fav- 
ored admirers.  The  Theatre  Fran^ais,  the  Odeon, 
the  Opera-Comique,  the  Chatelet,  the  Gaite,  the 
Porte-St.-Martin,  and  the  Ambigu,  are  only  consid- 
ered chic,  on  nights  of  iirst  representations. ' 

And  now,  reader,  it  may  interest  you  to  know 
the  exact  cost  of  one  of  these  iirst-class  cocottes. 
Twelve  thousand  a  year  reads  a  startling  figure, 
until  you  reflect  that  the  least  expensive  dress  of 
Mile.  Cora  Pearl  costs  twenty  guineas,  her  mante- 
lets oi point  tie  Venice  two  hundred  pounds,  that  her 
robe  lie  chambre  is  trimmed  with  three  hundred  and 
fifty  guinea  point  d'Alengon,  her  cambric  sheets 
with  Valenciennes,  each  pair  of  which  cost  from 
eighty  to  one  hundred  pounds,  her  laundress' bill 
annually  amounting  to  four  hundred  pounds,  her 
boot-maker's  to  three  hundred,  to  which  add  as 
much  for  bonnets,  ten  francs  a  day  for  perfumery, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  expenses  of  ten  horses  in  her 
stables,  and  seven  or  eight  carriages  in  her  coach 
houses. 

You  will  understand  that  twelve  thousand 
pounds  is  the  smallest  sum  she  can  get  through 
during  her  winter  and  spring  in  Paris,  and  her 
summer  and  autumn  at  Baden,  liombourg,  or 
Monaco.  In  this  expenditure  we  do  not  include 
her  diamonds,  the  value  of  which  amounts  to 
twenty  thousand  guineas.  Z>u  resie,  in  January, 
1869,  an  ex-Queen  sold  a  celebrated  diamond  neck- 
lace of  historic  interest,  and  known  amongst  the 
crown  jewels  as  the  neck-lace  of  the  cross,  (because 
the  central  ornament  was  a  fragment  of  the  true 
cross,)  to  a  queen  of  the  Paris  demi-monde  for  twenty- 


34  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

four  thousand  pounds  ;  and  it  is  equally  a  patent 
fact  that  Cora  Pearl's  stables  contain  from  ten  to 
fifteen  of  the  most  splendid  thoroughbreds  in  this 
capital.  They  are  groomed  and  attended  by  Eng- 
lish servants,  whose  wages  would  be  considered  as 
wealth  to  many  a  gallant  officer  or  literar  yman. 

It  is  noteworthy  to  remark  that  a  certain  spirit 
of  providence  and  thrift  in  the  manner  of  expendi- 
ture has  crept  into  the  upper  circles  of  the  cocotte. 

Madame  le  C ,  a  well-known  biche,  acquired 

a  fortune  of  eight  millions  of  francs,  and  is  now  se- 
riously contemplating  matrimony.  A  celebrated 
English  cocotte  who  started  in  life  as  the  favorite  of 
a  skittle  court  in  one  of  the  back  slums  of  Liver- 
pool, has  laid  by  a  sum  which  she  placed  in  the 
English  funds,  and  which  brings  her  in  a  yearly  in- 
come of  two  thousand  pounds  per  annum,  which  to 
judge  of  her  continued  popularity,  is  rapidly  in- 
creasing. A  great  majority,  however,  of  these  co- 
cottes  become  victims  to  their  life  of  constant  excite- 
ment, and  die  of  consumption,  as  did,  in  1847,  the 
celebrated  Marie  Duplessis,  immortalized  by  Alex- 
ander Dumas,  in  ^'La  Dame  aux  Camellias,"  and 
in  Verdi's  exquisite  opera  "-  La  Traviata,"  a  gratu- 
itous performance  of  the  celebrated  fifth  act  of 
which  was  afforded  to  the  Parisiennes,  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  by  one  of  the  prima  donnas  of  the 
demi  monde. 

Mni,  or  "  Bee  de  Lievre,"  as  her  second  nick- 
name stood,  was  one  of  the  most  noted  among 
these  luxurious  women  of  gay  life,  who  roll  around 
the  allees  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  in  equipages  of 
amazing  splendour,  and  toilettes  of  extravagant 
cost,  the  contributions  of  their  various  fashionable 
lovers.  These  ''  Ladies  of  the  Lake  "  outdo  the 
proudest  families  in  France  in  their  ostentatious 
exhibition  of  silks,  jewels,  and  all  that  wealth  can 
furnish  ;  they  set  the  fashions,  they  occupy  the  front 
places  at  fetes  and  races,  and  the  "  golden  youth  " 


LE    DEMI-MONDE.  35 

of  Paris  pistol  or  stab  one  another  to  death  for 
their  smiles,  in  what  are  called  "  meetings  of  hon- 
or," by  the  same  irony  which  styles  these  flaunt- 
ing women  "  Ladies  of  the  half  world." 

Mademoiselle  Mni  was  a  conspicuous  member 
of  this  Parisian  sisterhood;  with  robes  more  expen- 
sive, carriages  more  showy,  footmen  and  outriders 
bigger  and  brighter,  and  jewels  more  astounding 
than  most  of  the  others  who  air  their  successes  at 
the  Bois.  We  are  told,  in  tones  of  mingled  admi- 
ration and  envy,  that  she  had  never  less  than  a 
dozen  thoroughbreds  in  the  stables  of  her  hotel — 
and  thoroughbreds  alone  mean  francs  by  the  ten 
thousand,  with  "lovers  "  many,  rich,  plentiful,  and 
generous.  Mademoiselle  Nini,  therefore,  virtue 
and  all  cognate  matters  being  left  out  of  the  calcu- 
lation, was  in  the  opinion  of  fashionable  Paris, 
much  to  be  envied.  Death  was  the  impressario 
that  engaged  Mile.  Mni,  otherwise  "  Bee  de  Lie- 
vre,"  to  play  the  last  scene  of  ''La  Traviata"  in 
public.  You  can  buy  and  sell  most  things  in  Paris 
for  money, — including  honour,  patriotism,  youth, 
beauty,  and  good  name ;  but  life  is  sold  at  no  fancy 
bazaar,  either  here  or  there.  It  is  the  Divine  gift 
to  waste  or  use,  and  Mile.  Mni  had  wasted  hers. 
She  fell  ill,  and  her  physician,  with  many  compli- 
ments and  apologies,  intimated  that  she  was  going 
to  die  of  decline.  "■  Die  of  decline!"  with  a  dozen 
thorougbreds  in  her  stable,  and  as  many  less  noble 
animals  of  the  biped  king  lighting  for  the  proud 
privilege  of  paying  her  bills.  Mile.  Nini  could  not 
believe  it;  at  two  and  twenty,  with  such  a  past  and 
present  as  her's — the  future  was  at  the  moment  im- 
possible! Positively  she  could  not  die  ;  she  declined 
to  entertain  the  idea.  Besides,  to  be  an  invalid, 
was  to  acknowledge  her  occupation  gone — to  for- 
feit her  thoroughbreds,  her  jewels,  and  her  hotel; 
and  this  were  death  indeed.  So  making  the  hectic 
flush  serve  for  rouge,  and  muffling  her  death  cough 


36  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

in  Sjlace  moucJioir,  she  drove  out  daily  to  "  the  Lake/' 
and  held  her  court  there  among  the  other  Queens 
of  Misrule. 

Some  of  the  men  who  had  bought  the  right  to 
make  her  die  this  daily  death — in  order  not  to  die — 
called  to  drive  out  in  the  Bois  with  her.     She  got 
as  far  as  the  Porte  Mailot ; — a  Traviata  without 
the  singing;  a  Traviata  in  unconscious   dramatic 
earnestness ;  a  Traviata  on  the  point  of  having  done 
for  ever  with  "  broad  ways"  and  "narrow  ways" 
alike.     At  the  gate  she  muffled  the  death  cough 
too  closely,  and  the  vessels  of  the  lungs  suddenly 
ruptured  ;  the  blood  burst  over  her  lips— poor  little 
"Bee  de  Lievre  !" — and  she  fainted.     They  turned 
the  "splendid  steppers"  together  home  to  die; 
but  Paris  had  the  claim;  and,  it  may  be  added,  the 
need,  for  the  complete  spectacle.  Her  blood  bubbled 
through  the  lace  fringe  and  over  her  splendid  rai- 
ment !  A  last  cough  choked  her,  and  they  drove 
home  a  dead  woman  through  the  frightened  ranks 
of  the  "  Ladies  of  the  Lake,"  and  lifted  from  the 
l)arouche  a  ghastly  stained  corpse.     Perhaps  the 
comment  of  the  Parisian    critic  may  now  appear 
more  natural : —  "  Cette  agonie  en  jMn  air  manquait 
de  gaite  "• — "  This  death  struggle  in  the  open  road 
was  not  very  amusing."     ISTo  !  and  the  heaven  that 
governs  life  and  death,  that  deals  with  men  and 
nations   according  to  their  deeds,  did   not  decree 
that  awful  agony  in  order  to  amuse  Paris.     Gilded 
vice  and  jewelled  wantonness  have  the  stage  on  most 
days;  but  that  "one  representation  only"  Death 
"  commanded  !"  It  summoned  forth  "  La  Traviata," 
that  Parisiennes  might  see  her  as  she  actually  does 
die,  without  music  or  gaslights,  and  the  gandins 
and  the  cocoftes  have  one  good  chance  of  bethinking 
themselves  that,  in  a  deeper  sense  than  the  merely 
physical  one,  "  The  end  of  these  things  is  death  !" 

The  second  class  of  cocottcs  is  far  more  numer- 
ous than  the  chosen  few  who  have  obtained  the 


LE   DEMI-MOXDE.  87 

pre-eminence  which  a  casket  of  diamonds,  and  a 
box  at  the  theatre  confers  npon  those  who  have 
reached  this  dizzy  height.  Their  name  is  legion. 
They  may  be  met  on  the  Boulevards  from  nine  in 
the  evening  till  twelve  at  night.  Their  deep  sunken 
eyes  are  encircled  by  dark  lines  which  tell  the  life 
of  alternate  hunger  and  feasting  which  they  lead. 
Their  cheeks  are  evidently  pale  beneath  the  rouge 
and  poudre  a  la  marechale,  with  which  they  are  so 
artistically  painted.  Their  dress  is  more  showy 
than  that  of  their  more  wealthy  sisters,  although 
some  amongst  them  have  adopted  black  as  their 
peculiar  color,  in  which  case  they  have  not  been 
inaptly  named  sangsue^  that  is  leeches.  Creveiie 
is  the  special  designation  of  those  who  sport  the 
newly-invented  short  costume,  first  discovered  by 
an  Ambassadress,  whilst  halageuses  is  the  jycUrornm.ic 
given  by  the  people  to  the  cocofte  whose  trailing 
skrits  sweep  the  bitumen  of  the  Boulevards. 

They  are  one  and  all  blondes,  but  of  various 
shades  of  that  now  fashionable  tint.  Thus  we  have 
blonde  fuloide,  decidedly  carroty ;  flavesient,  straw 
color,  or  slightlj^  sulphureous  ;  falvastre,  or  lion's 
mane;  rubicle,  mahogany-brown,  often  painted  by 
Raphael ;  and  Maryland,  a  term  applying  not  only 
to  the  tint  of  the  hair,  which  is  that  of  dried  tobac- 
co, but  likewise  to  the  manner  of  its  dressing, 
which,  when  perfect,  must  be  rough  and  dishevelled, 
in  fact  resembling  the  dried  and  cut  tobacco.  The 
brilliant  complexion,  which,  at  night,  rivals  the 
most  exquisite  peach,  is  produced  by  poudre  a  la 
marechalejwith  which  the  face,  neck,  shoulders,  and 
arms  are  carefully  dusted.  Fard  a  la  Ninon  de  V 
Enclos  is  then  laid  on  the  cheek,  the  eyebrows  are 
drav^n  by  the  finest  camel's  hair  brush  dipped  in  a 
solution  of  sepia,  whilst  the  nostrils  and  lips  are 
touched  by  carmine,  amalgamated  with  pommade 
a  la  concombre. 

The  preparation  of  the  nails  is  a  slow  process. 


88  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

To  accomplish  it  a  set  of  ivory  instruments  is  re- 
quired. A  white  powder  is  brushed  on,  after  which 
carmine  is  carefully  rubbed  in  w^ith  an  ivory  pol- 
isher. This  process  properly  performed  gives  the 
nails  the  roseate  tint  and  polish  observable  inside 
the  shell  of  a  cameo.  The  weight  of  the  chignon, 
plaits,  and  curls  now  worn  is  on  an  average  two 
pounds  and  a  quarter,  or  one  kilo. 

This  immense  quantity  of  hair  will  forcement  go 
out  of  fashion  inasmuch  as  that  of  European  wom- 
en is  bought  up.  The  peasants  of  France  and 
Germany  have  shaved  to  supply  the  market.  The 
convents  have  sold  the  produce  of  their  nuns* 
heads,  and  the  gutters  are  even  now  being  searched 
every  morning  for  the  hair  which  is  combed  away 
during  the  ordinary  process  of  a  woman's  toilet 
There  remain  but  the  city  sewers.  Cocottes,  and 
grandes  dames  must  fain  be  satisfied  with  that  with 
which  nature  has  supplied  them. 

Having  initiated  the  reader  into  some  of  the 
processes  by  which  he  will  be  entrapped  into  the 
conviction  that  a  discharged  washerwoman's  ap 
prentice,  or  a  milliner's  girl,  is  an  angel  endowed 
with  every  mental  and  bodily  perfection,  we  will 
suppose  cocodes,  for  such  is  the  appellation  he 
earns  the  moment  he  constitutes  himself  the  pro- 
tector of  one  of  these  beauties  of  the  night,  to  be 
a  recently  arrived  stx^anger,  with  a  well-filled  purse, 
and  intent  on  a  lark.  He  sips  his  coftee  at  one  of 
the  tables  outside  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix.  A  fair  one 
passes  by,  and,  he  has  caught  a  glance  which  he 
rightly  interprets  into — "Follow  me."  He  pays 
his  score,  and  presently  joins  her  of  the  melting 
glance  and  ruby  lips. 

If  cocodes  belongs  to  the  crime  de  la  crem£,  he 
will  by  no  means  entertain  his  biche  in  a  public 
salle ;  he  will  secure  a  cabinet  2^<^rUcidler  or  private 
room,  of  which  several  are  attached  to  all  first 
class  establishments.    The  furniture  of  those  sane- 


LE  DEMI-MONDE.  39 

turns  is  not  extensive — crimson  velvet  sofas,  a 
couple  of  arm-chairs  of  luxurious  dimensions,  and 
a  table,  usually  constitute  the  upholstery  work 
therein  contained. 

A  slang  known  in  thedemi-monde  as  Javanese  was 

first  introduced  by  an  actress,  Madame  Oc . 

Adolph  Adam  composed  for  her  the  words  and 
music  of  a  song,  in  which  a  conversation  in  this 
argot  (slang)  is  held  between  a  cocotte  and  the  mas- 
ter of  a  restaurant.  But  were  we  to  attempt  to  ini- 
tiate the  reader  into  the  ordinary  language  used 
by  Mesdames  les  cocottes,  this  chapter  would  extend 
to  the  length  of  a  volume.  One  or  two  examples 
will  suffice.  To  express  the  idea  that  one  of  the 
sisterhood  is  admired,  the  locution,  borrowed  from 
the  language  of  the  Bourse,  is:  such  a  one  fait 
prime.  To  ask  their  cocodes  to  pay  the  next  term, 
the  phrase  is  :  Ma  liquidation  Jin  mois  sera  lourde. 

In  Javanese,  then  biche,  if  she  be  at  Bonnefoy's, 
will  have  ordered  cailles  au  gratin  to  be  washed 
down  by  the  Graii  Larose,  for  which  that  house  is 
celebrated.  If  at  the  Cafe  Riche,  soul  aux  crevettes, 
boudi.'i  a  la  Hichelieii,  or  cotelettes  a  la  sauce,  for  which 
that  restaurant  has  alone  the  receipt.  It  is  neither 
sauce  Robert  nor  sauce  a  la  Bechamel,  nor  sauce  sal- 
mis, it  is  simply  sauce  du  Cafe  Riche,  worthy  of 
the  gods,  although  it  is  greatly  to  be  questioned  if 
the  Chef  of  Mount  Parnassus  ever  hit  upon  so  de- 
licious a  compound  wherewith  to  feast  his  Olympi- 
an masters.  The  bouzg  rouge  at  the  Cafe  Riche  is 
worthy  of  the  sauce.  At  Bignon's,  in  the  matter 
of  wine,  biche  cannot  be  wrong.  The  Chateau 
Lafitte,  the  Branne  Mouton,  are  wonderful;  there 
is  a  Saint  Peray,  a  Chateau  Margaux,  a  Saint 
Emilion,  and  a  Romance,  such  as  are  rarely  to  be 
met  with  in  any  cellars,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Po- 
niards, the  Champagnes,  &c.  Bignon  has  never 
less  than  eight  thousand  pounds  worth  of  wine  in  his 
cellars.    The  Maison  Boree  is  evidently  most  expen- 


40  LE  DEMI-MONDE. 

sive,  but  we  venture  to  assert  the  house  where  the 
supper  will  be  the  most  perfect  and  the  champagne 
the  best  in  Europe.  The  Brothers  Yerclier  have 
the  speciality  of  Yeuve  Cliquot,  so  difficult  to  obtain 
genuine  in  Paris.  The  most  undeniable  Bouilled 
Baisse  in  Paris  is  to  be  found  at  the  Maison  Doree. 
If  Cocodes  desire  Chablis,  he  must  drive  as  far  as 
the  Arc  de  Triomphe^  where  at  the  Restaurant 
Mongrol,  kept  by  M.  Orry,  he  will  find  a  Chablis 
that  he  will  with  difficulty  equal  in  any  cellar  in 
Europe. 

Supper  over,  and,  we  will  suppose,  washed  down 
by  copious  libations  of  some  of  the  delicious  vin- 
tages above  cited,  biche  will  suddenly  remark  the 
mantel-piece  adorned  by  a  variety  of  ornaments, 
mere  glittering  nothings,  classed  by  the  trade  as 
articles  de  Paris ^  which  serve  no  purpose  of  life, 
but  that  of  emptying  fools'  purses.  Amongst  this 
variety,  there  is  most  probably  a  fan.  "  My  little 
love,"  sighs  out  Cocotte,  "Heloise  has  one  exactly 
similar,  Cora  also,  I  alone  have  not,"  &c.  Remark, 
the  special  moment  selected  for  this  appeal,  is  pre- 
cisely that  when  no  man  could  refuse  a  petition 
proffered  by  cherry  lips  and  melting  glances ;  he 
protests  that  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  offer  any  little 
souvenir  of  the  delicious  hour  he  has  passed  in  her 
society;  which  pleasure  he  is  unpleasantly  remind- 
ed of,  when  an  hour  later  his  account  is  handed  to 
him.  Supper  for  two,  sixty  francs ;  fan,  forty 
francs.  Bichi  will  not  carry  off  her  f\in  that  day  ; 
she  will  call  for  it  another  time.  Accordingly  on 
the  morrow,  she  returns,  and  claims  from  the  wait- 
er twenty- five  francs  of  the  forty  her  cocodes  of  the 
previous  day  had  paid  for  the  souvenir  of  the  delicious 
hour,  ^c. 

Before  the  week  has  clasped  hiche  will  re-appear 
at  the  same  cafe,  escorted  by  another  protector, 
perhaps  the  eldest  son  of  a  British  peer,  a  Russian 
Prince,  or  an  elderly  French  financier.     She  will 


LE   DEMI-MONDE.  41 

try  tlie  fan  trick  again;  she  may  fail  and  some- 
times does,  for  after  all  there  are  degrees  of  green- 
ness, and  men  are  to  be  found  who  are  not  to  be 
altogether  entrapped.  In  the  latter  case,  as  she  and 
her  Amphitryon  quit  the  restaurant,  its  master  will 
slip  into  her  hand  a  boii  for  a  single  dinner  gratis, 
which  she  will  avail  herself  of  on  a  night  when  her 
locks  a  la  llari/landhaYe  failed  to  catch  a  gudgeon, 
Cocodes,  indeed,  may  think  himself  fortunate  if  the 
fan  be  the  only  article  added  to  his  bill.  JBiche  has 
perhaps  been  driving  about  Paris  all  day,  and  when 
she  passed  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  left  her  cab  at  the 
corner  of  Rue  Scribe;  in  this  case  she  will  have 
ordered  the  gargon  in  Javanais  to  pay  for  it.  l^ow, 
as  cocodes  flatters  himself  that  he  understands 
French,  great  will  be  his  disappointment  to  hear 
hiehe  give  her  orders  in  a  language  of  which  he  can- 
not comprehend  one  syllable.  If  you  enquire 
the  origin  of  this  new  variety  of  slang,  we  can 
give  but  one  reply.  The  eternal  desire  of  empty- 
headed  fools  to  have  a  laugh  between  themselves 
at  the  uninitiated,  and  the  advantage  to  them  of 
conversing  to  each  other  without  being  understood. 
Biche's  orders  have  been  promptly  executed,  the 
cab  has  been  paid,  perhaps  six  hours  at  three  francs 
an  hour,  this  will  be  the  iirst  item  in  the  addition. 
The  following  is  a  correct  copy  of  an  add'tion,  of 
which  the  original  was  presented  to  the  Amphitryon 
of  a  celebrated  syren  of  the  Boulevard. 

Trois  henres  de  voiture,  (cab  3  hours) ...  9  francs. 

Deux  paires  de  gants   (two  prs.  gloves) . .  10      — 

£ventail  (fan) 35      — 

Casse  une  glace  (breaking  mirror) 3      — 

Boite  de  cigarettes  (box  cigarettes) 2      — 

Poudre  a  la  Marechale 5      — 

Total 64  francs. 

Let  US  suppose  this  modest  little  bill  paid,  and 
eleven  o'clock  struck.  'Tis  the  hour  for  Mabille, 
the  Casino,  the  Valentino,  the  Closerie  de  Lilas.  In 


42  LE    DEMI-MONDE. 

another  chapter,  the  reader  will  find  under  the 
head  of  each  of  the  names  of  these  celebrated 
places  of  entertainment,  their  separate  idiosyn- 
cracies.  Our  present  object  is  to  accompany  Cocodes 
and  Blche,  m  order  to  put  our  readers  up  to  some 
of  the  dodges  by  which  the  genus  cocotte,  consider- 
ably lighten  the  purses  of  their  v^erdant  protectors. 
A  cab  is  called  for  —  *'  A  Mabille "  is  the  order 
given. 

A  more  beautiful  drive  cannot  be  imagined  than 
that  which  our  friends  will  take,  supposing  they 
have  patronized  the  cafes  we  have  alluded  to  along 
the  Boulevards,  brilliant  with  the  light  streaming 
from  the  many  club-rooms  (cerdes),  cafes  and  shops 
which  line  those  spacious  thorougfares,  to  the  left, 
by  the  stately  Rue  Royale,  across  the  magnificent 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  past  the  bronze  fountains, 
whose  splashing  waters  silvered  by  the  sheen  of 
moonbeams,  appear  to  shower  pearls  on  the  clear 
air  of  summer  night,  past  the  white  marble  horses 
of  Marly,  along  the  chesnut-bordered  Champs- 
Elysees,  at  that  hour  instinct  with  life  and  gay  with 
the  sound  of  music  and  dancing,  issuing  from  the 
cafes  chantants,  and  on  to  the  gaily-illumined  portal 
of  the  world-renowned  Mabille. 

It  is  a  fete  night ;  Cocodes  pays  five  francs  for 
his  own  ticket,  and  two  for  that  of  his  companion. 
IsTear  the  entrance,  stands  arrayed  in  a  faultless 
costume,  an  Isabella — not  the  Isabella  of  the  Jock- 
ey Clnb,  nor  yet  Mile,  la  Ferine,  but  one  of  their 
numerous  representatives.  "  Buy  a  boquet  for 
Madame"  is  immediately  addressed  to  Cocodes. 
Obedient  to  a  glance  from  the  sepia-tinted  eye- 
lashes, he  pays  ten  francs  for  a  mass  of  white  lilacs, 
or  perhaps  roses.  Fair  one  hardly  deigns  to  utter 
a  merci  for  what  she  considers  her  due,  drops  the 
arm  of  her  escort,  and  telling  him  he  must  not 
compromise  her  there,  desires  him  to  take  two  or 
three  turns  of  the  ball-room,  and  she  will  rejoin 


LE   DEMI-MONDE.  43 

Inm  soon.  Biclie  watches  till  he  is  out  of  sight, 
quickly  returns  to  the  bouquetiere,  and,  giving  back 
the  recently-acquired  bouquet,  receives  from  her 
one  half  the  sum  her  adorer  five  minutes  before 
had  paid  for  it ;  thus  acquiring  five  francos  in  as 
many  minutes. 

It  was  the  boast  of  a  well-known  daiiseuse  of 
Mabille  that  in  one  evening  she  had  the  same  bou- 
puet  purchased  for  her  eighteen  times — which  she 
consequently  resold  as  often — to  say  nothing  of 
having  had  the  same  orange  bought  for  her  twen- 
ty-three times,  and  by  her  as  often  resold,  and 
eleven  times  the  same  fan.  Cocodes,  meanwhile, 
wanders  amidst  the  crowd,  and  presently,  attrac- 
ted by  the  fiery  glance  of  two  syrens  enjoying  ices, 
he  approaches,  and,  entering  into  conversation,  ac- 
cepts a  proffered  seat;  his  jeux  de  mots  are  evi- 
dently appreciated,  and  judging  by  the  approba- 
tory glances  of  his  new  acquaintances,  he  discovers 
that  he  is  a  wit  of  the  first  class.  One  of  his  com- 
panions rises  and  joins  a  group  of  revellers ;  he  is 
alone  with  her  friend,  but  intimates  to  her  that 
their  acquaintance  cannot  go  further.  She  pres- 
ently follows  the  example  of  her  companion,  rises, 
and  beckoning  to  the  gargon,  points  out  Cocodes. 
He  has  the  pleasure  of  paying  the  fifteen  francs 
Mesdemoiselles  Juliette  and  Georgiette  have  con- 
sommi. 

The  next  morning  Cocodes  awakes  to  find  him- 
self in  a  luxurious  chamber,  half  bed-room,  half 
salon;  for,  needless  to  inform  the  reader,  Bicbo 
had  returned  in  time  to  induce  him  to  accompany 
her  to  her  entresol  in  the  Quartier  Breda.  The 
sound  of  voices,  as  it  were  disputing  in  the  ante- 
room, breaks  on  his  ear.  Biche  was  sleeping.  A 
maid  entered  on  tiptoe,  and  gently  arousing  her 
mistress,  whispered,  "  It's  the  concierge  asking  for 
the  rent,  madame."  "  Send  him  away,"  he  hears 
her  mutter.     "Madame,  he  has  come  so  often,  he 


44  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

won't  go:  he  says  that  lie  will  sell  your  furniture 
and  turn  you  into  the  street.  He  is  insolent,  Mad- 
ame.*' The  fair  one  looks  dreadfully  distressed, 
and  speaks  below  her  breath,  although  not  suffi- 
ciently distinct  to  be  heard  by  her  lover.  "  Heav- 
ens !  what  am  I  to  do;"  she  exclaims.  The  lover, 
touched  by  so  much  delicacy,  starts  up,  seizes  his 
porte-monnaie,  inquires  the  amount  due,  and  most 
cheerfully  pays  away  several  hundred  francs.  He 
is  green,  and  has  not  asked  to  see  the  receipt.  If 
he  had  done  so,  he  would  have  perceived  that  it 
was  old  and  antedated.  The  same  document  had 
served  to  entrap  several  of  his  predecessors,  and 
would  probably  entrap  many  more.  We  will  take 
the  case  of  a  young  fellow,  tired  with  a  hard  day 
of  sight-seeing,  who  enters  a  fashionable  cafe,  and 
perceiving  the  salon  of  the  rez-de-chausst  crowded, 
asks  for  a  private  room,  wherein  he  flatters  him- 
self he  will  enjoy  a  cooler  atmosphere,  and  a  more 
tranquil  entourage,  than  amidst  the  clatter  of  plates 
and  the  din  of  voices  in  the  general  salon.  The 
waiters,  with  the  most  obsequious  politeness, 
show  him  a  cabinet  particiiUer.  He  calls  for  the 
carte,  and  having  ordered  a  dozen  huitres  d^Ostende, 
a  salmis  de  perdreaux  iniffes  and  a  bottle  of  chablis, 
he  throws  himself  on  the  tempting  chaise  longue 
and  is  about  to  enter  the  land  of  dreams,  when  the 
door  suddenly  opens,  and  the  most  beautiful  of  vis- 
ions effectually  arouses  him. 

The  rosiest  and  freshest  of  sylphs  appears  with- 
in the  half-closed  door,  and  with  the  most  bewitch- 
ing grace,  her  petticoat  of  striped  satin  so  gathered 
in  her  well-gloved  hand  as  to  display  a  perfectly 
shaped  leg,  encased  in  the  finest  of  silk  stockings, 
and  an  ancle  in  the  neatest  of  satin  boots,  she  begs 
the  stranger's  pardon.  ^'She  had  mistaken  the 
door"  (not  in  the  least,  the  gargon  in  her  pay  had 
given  her  the  number)  ;  "  she  had  intended  to 
join  a  party  of  friends,  mille  pardons.''      By  the 


LE  DEMI-MONDE.  45 

time  tliese  phrases  are  uttered,  the  stranger  who 
has  started  from  his  recumbent  position,  bethinks 
himself  of  his  lonely  fate,  envies  the  friends,  and, 
encouraged  by  a  melting  glance,  involuntarily  of- 
fers a  chair,  and  ....  orders  supper  for  two. 
An  acquaintance  of  mine  made  happy  under  these 
circumstances,  by  the  white  shoulders  and  cherry 
lips  of  an  unexpected  visitor,  flattered  himself  that, 
having  paid  an  exhorbitant  addition,  he  had  done 
wdth  his  inamorata,  but  found  himself  wonderfully 
mistaken.  Supper  over,  he  naturally  must  escort 
her  to  her  home.  A  perfumed  boudoir,  all  pink 
satin  and  white  lace,  velvet  pile  carpets,  and  gilt 
furniture,  is  inviting  at  two  o'clock  on  a  chilly 
morning. 

My  friend,  who  was  a  banker,  accustomed  to 
early  hours,  awoke  betimes,  and  great  was  his  as- 
tonishment to  find  himself  alone.  Springing  from 
the  luxurious  duvets  beneath  which  he  had  slept 
heavily,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  his  watch. 
It  was  gone.  Startled,  he  felt  beneath  his  pillow 
for  his  portemonnaie,  which  had  contained  eighty 
pounds,  but  in  vain ;  his  signet  ring  was  likewise 
absent,  without  leave.  He  called,  he  shouted,  con- 
vinced that  he  w^as  merely  the  dupe  of  a  practical 
joke,  and  that  presently  a  merry  laugh  would  echo 
to  his  voice ;  but  silence  was  the  only  reply,  and 
at  last  the  unwelcome  truth  flashed  upon  him  that 
he  was  the  victim  of  a  practical  thief — not  flatter- 
ing to  his  vanity,  but  nevertheless  true.  That 
afternoon  he  met  a  friend,  to  whom  he  confided 

his  adventure,  M.  le  Comte  de  C ,  an  old  hab- 

itue  of  the  Boulevards.  He  listened,  and  then 
quietly  asked  him  for  the  name  by  which  his  syren 
had  called  herself,  the  cafe  at  which  she  had  burst 
in  upon  his  solitary  supper,  and  the  address  of  her 
apartment.  Having  noted  these  details  in  his  dia- 
ry, he  said,  "  Meet  me  to-morrow  evening  at  Tor- 
toni's.''     My  friend   was   punctual.     To   his   sur- 


46  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

prise,  M.  le  Comte  handed  him  his  portemonnaie, 
containing  the  exact  sum  he  had  lost,  his  watch, 
ring,  &c.,  and  then  related  how  he  had  been  ena- 
bled to  recover  the  stolen  goods. 

M.  le  Comte  had  gone  to  the  cafe  indicated  by 
his  friend;  there  discovered  the  syren  of  the  previ- 
ous evening.  An  adept  in  the  facile  art  of  making 
her  acquaintance,  he  invited  her  to  supper;  after 
which,  he  anon  followed  her  to  her  apartment. 
Once  esconced  in  the  lace-curtained  alcove,  which 
twenty-four  hours  before  had  seduced  his  predeces- 
sor by  its  Sybarite  luxury,  M.  le  Comte  feigned 
deep  sleep.  Hours  passed,  during  which  he  felt 
concious  that  his  companion  was  awake.  At  dawn 
of  day  he  heard  her  strike  a  light.  Softly  she  crept 
out  of  bed,  and  cautiously  passed  the  light  before 

his  eyes.     But  le   Comte  de  M was  on  his 

guard  ;  he  noted  she  moved  gently  across  the  vel- 
vet-piled carpet  towards  the  fireplace.  He  saw  her 
stoop.  She  turned,  rose,  and  again  examined  him 
attentively,  once  more  testing  his  sleep  by  so  plac- 
ing her  taper  that  its  light  suddenly  fell  on  his  face. 

Prepared  for  all  eventualities,  le  Comte  de  M 

appeared  to  sleep  still  more  heavily.  Evidently 
satisfied,  she  grasped  his  watch,  ring,  and  purse, 
which  he  had  purposely  placed  on  a  small  table 
near  the  bed.  He  watched  her  carry  them  to  the 
fireplace,  kneel  down,  and  appeared  occupied  in 
concealing  his  property;  but  where  or  how,  he 
could  not  then  make  out.  This  act  accomplished 
to  her  evident  satisfaction,  she  disappeared  through 
the  half-opened  door.  He  allowed  two  hours  to 
elapse  ere  he  moved.  Eight  struck  by  the  clock  of 
a  neighboring  church.  It  was  but  natural  he 
should  rise  and  dress;  having  satisfied  himself  that 
the  apartment  was  perfectly  vacant,  le  Comte  de 

M commenced  an  investigation  of  the  fireplace, 

and  with  the  astute  intelligence  of  a  Frenchman, 
presently  detected  a  brick,  which  though  carefully 


IE   DEMI-MONDE.  47 

replaced,  was  movable;  beneath  it  lay  his  own 
jewels,  watch,  and  rings,  those  bearing  the  initials 
of  his  friend,  together  with  several  watches  and 
other  valuables. 

From  the  same  authority,  allow  me,  reader,  to 
initiate  you  into  another  dodge,  by  which  you  may 
be  entrapped  : — 

Mr.  ,  on  a  fine   morning  of  last   summer, 

happened  to  be  strolling  through  the  Tuileries. 
Attracted  by  the  exquisite  beauty  of  a  child,  whose 
saddened  expression  inspired  sympathy,  he  pur- 
chased an  orange,  and  offered  it  to  the  little  girl.  The 
child  at  once  accepted  the  fruit,  and  said,  "  Mam- 
ma will  thank  you,"  pointing  to  a  woman  of  singular 
loveliness  seated  on  an  opposite  bench.  My  friend, 
considerably  taken  aback,  at  this  sudden  introduc- 
tion, approached  the  lady  with  some  trepidation, 
and  pleaded  an  excuse  for  the  liberty  he  had  taken. 
A  conversation  had  ensued,  to  put  a  stop  to  which 
the  lady  rose  and  quitted  the  Tuileries.  The  next 
morning,  following  the  inevitable  law  of  attractions, 

Mr.  found  himself  at  the  same  spot,  at  the 

same  hour,  as  on  the  previous  day.  The  lovely  child 
and  the  melancholy  beauty  were  there.  E'eedless  to 
pursue  in  all  its  details  the  acquaintance  which  en- 
sued ;  it  naturally  led  to  several  meetings.  The  salon 
of  the  Grand  Hotel  was  one  day  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous.    Much  to  his  amazement,  Mr.  B found 

his  lovely  friend  bathed  in  tears.  Anxious  enquir- 
ies failed  at  first  to  elict  the  cause  of  so  much  dis- 
tress. 

Mr.  B ,  however,  insisting,  at  length  drew 

forth  from  his  fair  one,  the  confession  that  her  hus- 
band had  been  arrested  for  debt,  that  consequently 
starvation  stared  her  in  the  face.  "  Oh,  it's  not  for 
myself  I  care,  but  my  adored  child;"  sobs  choked 
her  utterance,  while  she  sank  fainting  on  a  neigh- 
boring sofa  in  an  attitude  the  grace  of  which  added 
not  a  little  to  the  impression  already  produced  on 


48  LE   DEMI-MONDE. 

the  mind  of  my  friend.  "  But  for  how  mucli ;  if 
you  love  me  tell  me  the  sum."  "  ^"0,  no,  'tis  too 
much,  'tis  too  much  V  the  lady  hysterically  sobbed 
faintly.  "  But  how  much  ?  I  must  know  V'  ''Three 
thousand  francs,"  she  faintly  whispered.  To  draw 
out  his  check  book  and  sign  a  bill  for  the  amount 
was  the  work  of  a  minute,  although  he  feared  it 
was  too  late.  She  was  fainting,  more  probably  dy- 
ing. The  cheque,  however,  must  have  been  en- 
dowed with  qualities  which  the  medical  faculty 
would  gladly  be  put  au  coiiraut  of,  for,  oh,  mirabile 
dicta  I  the  lady  suddenly  revived,  sat  up,  arranged 
her   dishevelled   locks,   started   to   her   feet,  and, 

making  a  low  courtesy  to  Mr.  B ,  glided  from 

his  apartment,  never  to  re-appear. 


THE   SOCIAL  EVIL. 


Punch's  advice  to  persons  about  to  marry  is 
donH!  a  bad  advice  to  my  idea,  and  wMch  our  bn- 
mouristical  satirist  ought  to  have  applied  to  vice 
and  dissipation.  To  any  of  my  readers  a  la  recher- 
che d'une  bonne  fortune^  that  is,  those  wbo  are  out 
for  a  lark,  and  anxious  to  fathom  the  mysteries 
of  this  vast  city,  I  say  don't  ! 

Still,  if  my  reader  be  determined  to  yield  to  bis 
morbid  curiosity,  I  then  give  him  this  advice. 
Avoid  tbe  cocottes^  the  lorettes,  and  all  tbose  suspic- 
ious, though  well-dressed  females,  wbo,  from  nine 
to  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  promenade  upon 
the  Boulevards,  the  Passages  Jouffroy,  tbe  Opera, 
or  tbe  Panoramas. 

Prostitution  is  openly  recognized  in  this  coun- 
try by  Government,  which  justly  considers  it  as 
inevitable  in  great  cities,  as  are  sewers.  It  is  looked 
upon  as  an  unavoidable  attendant  upon  civilized, 
and,  especially,  closely  packed  population.  It  is, 
and  always  will  be,  like  those  congenital  maladies 
against  which  experiments  and  systems  of  medi- 
cine have  contended  in  vain.  This  explains  why 
the  Frencb  authorities  having  once  admitted  that 
it  cannot  be  eradicated,  merel}^  strive  to  limit  its 
ravages  as  regards  the  health  of  the  people.  This 
they  accomplish  by  having  in  every  town  a  certain 
number  of  tolerated  houses.  They  are  well-built 
botels,  properly  managed  and  ventilated,  and  gen- 
erally situated  on  tbe  exterior  Boulevards.     The 


60  THE   SOCIAL   EVIL. 

shutters,  nevertheless,  are  always  closed  (as  their 
proprietors  are  not  allowed  to  show  any  indication 
of  their  profession),  and  over  the  front  door  is  a 
huge  gilt  cypher,  three  or  four  times  larger  than 
the  numbers  which  distinguish  respectable  houses. 

The  different  names  given  by  the  people  to  tol- 
erated houses  are  those  of  hordels,  hoxons  lupanars. 
The  number  of  girls  attached  to  them,  most  of 
whom  were  formerly  milliners,  dressmakers,  and 
servants  out  of  work,  has  decreased  from  1,976  in 
1857  to  1,306  in  1867. 

The  head  clerk  of  the  Bureau  des  Moeurs  at  the 
Prefecture  de  Police  estimates  the  number  of  clan- 
destine prostitutes  in  Paris  at  thirty  thousand ! 
Reader,  bear  this  in  mind,  thirty  thousand  women 
of  the  worst  sort  surround  you  in  this  metropolis, 
who  successfully  defy  all  the  arts  of  the  police  to 
subject  them  to  registration  and  official  control. 

At  the  Prefecture  de  Police  there  exists  an  of- 
fice designated  le  Bureau  des  Moeurs.  This  depart- 
ment has  sole  charge  of  this  class.  When  enter- 
ing on  the  vocation  they  have  chosen,  or  when 
detected  in  executing  it  clandestinely,  they  are 
compelled,  after  a  rigid  examination  into  their 
former  life,  origin,  and  condition,  to  sign  a  sort 
of  contract,  involving  submission  to  a  code  of 
rules  prescribed  for  their  guidance  ;  thus  they  are 
compelled  to  place  themselves  entirely  under  the 
supervision  and  control  of  the  police. 

The  name,  age,  residence,  and  other  particulars 
of  each  of  these  volunteers  of  vice  are  registered. 
Their  movements  are  consequently  known.  To 
be  inscribed  in  this  mysterious  register — entitled 
''  Police  Register  of  les  femmes  publiques,'^ — is  by  no 
means  easy.  Once  inscribed,  no  repentance  how- 
ever sincere,  or  change  of  life  however  radical,  can 
obtain  for  the  Jille  the  erasure  of  her  name  from 
this  code  of  infamy.  Marriage  is  not  accepted  as 
a  plea  ;  and  death  itself,  though  urged  by  surviving 


THE   SOCIAL   EVIL.  51 

relatives,  will  not  prove  an  argument  for  the  in- 
fringing of  the  law  upon  this  point,  which  is  per- 
emptory and   irrevocable. 

An  aspirant  for  inscription  is  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  a  kind  and  benevolent  old  man,  the 
Chef  de  Bureau  des  Moeurs,  who,  in  a  paternal 
tone,  inquires  into  the  motives  which  induced  her 
to  make  the  application.  In  eight  cases  out  of 
ten,  dislike  of  work,  craving  for  adulation,  and 
gluttony,  are  the  reasons  assigned,  and  in  hut 
two  out  of  ten,  misery  and  impending  starvation. 
The  petitioners  for  cartes  are  not  only  questioned 
in  their  antecedents,  but  likewise  as  to  their  actual 
circumstances.  The  moral  consequences  of  the 
step  they  are  about  to  take  are  laid  before  them ; 
the  humiliations,  insults,  and  utter  infamy  to 
which  they  will  be  exposed  are  detailed,  and  a  last 
appeal  to  their  usually  blunted  feelings  made  be- 
fore the  fatal  carte  is  delivered.  Strange  instances 
of  natural  inborn  depravity  are  daily  brought  to 
light.  One  which  occurred  a  few  weeks  since  is 
worth  relating : — 

Struck  by  the  great  beauty  and  self-possessed 
manner  of  a  young  girl,  whose  complexion  of  daz- 
zling brilliance  betokened  a  constitution  of  iron, 
the  worthy  registrar  took  even  greater  pains  than 
usual  in  his  endeavours  to  turn  her  from  the  path 
she  wished  to  enter.  He  pointed  out  the  disgrace 
she  was  preparing  for  her  own  later  days,  and, 
with  the  most  paternal  kindness,  urged  her,  if  her 
education  did  not  admit  of  any  other  occupation, 
to  take  a  situation  as  a  domestic  servant.  The 
girl  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  her  eyes 
flashed,  and,  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  indignation, 
she  exclaimed,  "  A  servant,  I !  it's  not  I  would  eat 
of  that  bread  V 

Ignorance  is  the  prevailing  characteristic  of 
this  class,  not  only  in  Paris,  but  all  over  the 
world.     To  demonstrate  how  little  education  has 


62  THE   SOCIAL   EVIL. 

spread  amongst  them,  the  following  table  will 
initiate  the  reader  into  the  number  who  signed  the 
register  well  and  those  who  signed  it  badly;  also 
of  tliose  who  were  unable  to  sign  it  at  all.  Out  of 
4,470  girls  born  and  brought  up  in  Paris — 

Those  who  could  not  sign 2,332 

Those  who  signed  badly 1,780 

Those  who  signed  well 110 

Those  who  possessed  no  means  of  proving  who 

they  were 248 

Total 4,470 

As  far  as  religion  goes,  these  females  are  usually 
dependent  on  the  knowledge  of  the  most  simple 
articles  of  belief.  Sometime  they  are  fanatical, 
and  almost  always  superstitious;  which  accounts 
for  these  women  invariably  calling  in  a  priest  when 
dying,  and  receiving,  with  the  utmost  confidence, 
satisfaction,  and  delight,  the  rites  of  the  Church. 
Most  of  these  unfortunate  creatures,  especially 
those  who  inhabit  houses  frequented  by  soldiers, 
have  a  habit,  like  privates  and  sailors,  of  tattooing 
themselves  on  the  chest  and  arms,  and  even  on 
the  legs.  Some  of  these  women  examined  by  doc- 
tors in  the  hospitals  have  been  seen  with  as  many 
as  thirty  portraits  of  different  lovers  imprinted  on 
various  parts  of  their  body.  Strange  to  record, 
these  figures  and  inscriptions  are  rarely,  if  ever, 
immodest  or  indecent.  They  lead  a  lazy  and  in- 
dolent life,  distinguished  by  lassitude  and  inert- 
ness. They  are  perpetually  the  prey  of  an  inevi- 
table craving  after  those  excitements  which  may 
tend  to  recruit  their  nerves,  shattered  by  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  preceding  night. 

The  enlightened  and  benevolent  Parent-Du- 
chatelet,  who  took  such  an  interest  in  this  unfortu- 
nate class,  stated  that  the  majorit}^  of  prostitutes 
enjoy,  curious  to  say,  better  health  than  other 
women,  and  that  when  they  succumb,  it  is  not  to 
their  calling,  nor  to  venereal  disease,  but  in  due 
time  to  those  maladies  which  we  are  all  subject  to. 


THE   SOCIAL   EVIL.  53 

Sad  as  the  truth  may  appear,  it  is  a  fact  that  the 
inhabitants  of  brothels  are,  most  of  them,  recruited 
from  amongst  the  honest,  healthiest,  and  most  vig- 
orous of  the  female  population.  As  I  stated  be- 
fore, they  lead  an  idle  life,  pass  much  of  their 
time  in  the  open  air,  are  generally  well  clothed 
and  well  fed,  and  thus  proceed  on  their  career 
with  a  capacity  of  withstanding  the  attacks  of  dis- 
ease, and  bearing  its  results,  which  the  over-worked 
and  ill-fed  but  honest  workwoman  cannot  com- 
mand. Duchatelet,  the  best  authority  which  can 
be  quoted  on  this  sad  subject,  thus  sums  up  the  re- 
sults of  his  inquiry  concerning  the  average  health 
of  Parisian  prostitutes  : — 

In  spite  of  the  many  excesses  they  indulge  in, 
and  of  the  many  causes  of  disease  to  which  they 
are  liable,  their  health  resists  attacks  far  more 
surely  than  does  that  of  women  who  have  children, 
and  who  are  employed  in  household  service.  If 
attacked  by  any  of  the  maladies  to  which  the  hu- 
m.an  frame  is  liable  they  do  not  appear  to  suffer 
more  than  others.  In  short,  they  have  iron  bodies 
capable  of  bearing  excesses  which  would  rapidly 
ruin  other  females. 

Most  become  what  they  were,  previous  to  enter- 
ing upon  their  career  of  vice  and  dissipation,  viz. 
milliners,  servants,  seamstresses,  washerwomen, 
street  sellers  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  or  oysters. 
Yery  few  manage  to  put  by  a  sum  sufficient  to  as- 
sure them  an  independence.  Some  marry,  some 
live  with  men,  as  though  they  were  authorized  to 
do  so  by  M.  le  Maire.  Sad  to  say,  a  great  number 
of  these  outcasts  turn  into  nurses  or  ladies'  maids. 
They  are  thus  entrusted  by  mothers  with  the  care 
of  children,  and  become  the  attendants  and  often, 
perhaps,  the  confidants  of  pure  young  girls  just 
blooming  into  womanhood,  whose  moral  delicacy 
they  must  naturally  blunt,  and  whose  ears  they 
cannot  but  pollute. 


54  THE   SOCIAL   EVIL. 

It  is  seldom  that  women  who  have  enlisted  in 
brothels  are  met  on  Boulevards  or  along  the  streets. 
Their  names  as  well  as  the  house  they  live  in  are 
transmitted  from  one  friend  to  another.  Gargons 
de  cafe  willingly  also  give  information  on  this  sub- 
ject ;  of  course  these  wiil  expect  a  'pourhoire  of  three 
or  four  francs  for  introducing  you  into  the  vicious 
abodes  of  this  metropolis. 

They  seldom  rise  before  ten  in  the  morning ; 
then  take  a  bath  and  attend  to  the  other  hygienic 
regulations  of  the  police.  At  about  eleven  o'clock 
they  assemble  together  to  have  a  dejeuner  a  la  four- 
chette,  and  then  they  spend  the  afternoon  in  pre- 
paring their  evening  toilets,  in  chatting  and  smok- 
ing cigarettes  ;  some  play  on  the  piano  ;  each  es- 
tablishment possesses  one  of  these  instruments. 
Whenever  they  venture  out  they  are  invariably  ac- 
companied by  one  of  the  superintendents  of  the 
brothel.  They  have  a  copious  dinner  at  half-past 
^ve,  after  which  they  prepare  to  receive  their  nu- 
merous clients.  They  are  much  given  to  perfum- 
ery, eau  de  cologne,  and  other  scents ;  are  fond 
of  painting  their  faces  and  lips,  and  blackening 
their  eyebrows  by  means  of  a  burnt  Inciter  match; 
they  call  this  maquillage.  Most  of  these  girls  pass 
under  false  names.  The  following  are  some  of  the 
most  popular  ones  adopted  by  them  :  Eousselette, 
Boulotte,  La  Courtelle,  La  Picarde,  La  Blonde, 
Belle  Cuisse,  Belle  Janibe  Brunette,  Mignarde,  &c. 

All  of  these  women  have  lovers  of  their  own, 
generally  selected  from  the  law  and  medical  stu- 
dents, clerks,  or  tradesmen ;  owing  to  the  intellec- 
tual superiority  of  these  men  over  the  working 
classes,  they  become  violently  attached  to  them. 
The  rank  and  title  of  dame  de  maison,  that  is  to  say, 
the  keeper  of  a  house  of  ill  fame,  is  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  a  prostitute's  career — the  culminating 
point  of  her  ambition.  This,  however,  is  consid- 
ered a  sinecure,  which  can  only  be  obtained,  by  fe- 


THE   SOCIAL   EVIL.  55 

males  who  were  formerly  kept  by  men  of  property, 
and  who,  having  accumulated  a  certain  capital, 
thus  establish  themselves  in  the  hope  of  obtaining 
thereby  a  livelihood  for  their  declining  years. 

There  can  be  but  little  doubt  that  many  parents 
countenance  their  daughters  in  entering  ou  a  life 
of  prostitution,  and  in  many  instances  almost  com- 
pel them  to  do  so.  Of  5,183  women  lately  regis- 
tered in  Paris,  we  have — 

164  cases  of  two  sisters ; 
4  cases  of  three  sisters ; 
3  cases  of  four  sisters. 

Besides,  there  were  sixteen  cases  of  a  mother  and 
daughter,  four  of  an  aunt  and  niece,  and  twenty- 
two  of  first  cousins. 

Debauchery  recruits  its  victims  in  all  classes  of 
society.  Of  this  many  examples  might  be  given  ; 
two,  recorded  on  the  books  of  police,  will  suffice  : — 

Eosalie  J—,  educated  by  religious  parents  in  ex- 
amples of  honor  and  piety,  was  at  seventeen  the 
loveliest  girl  that  ever  painter  drew  or  poet  sung ; 
remarkable  as  was  her  style  of  beauty,  her  friends 
watched  her  increasing  loveliness  without  anxiety 
as  to  her  future,  well  knowing  that  the  independ- 
ent position  of  her  parents  would  secure  for  her  an 
honorable  marriage.  Kear  her  father's  house,  sit- 
uated in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Paris,  there  lived 
an  elderly  lady,  whom  Rosalie  was  allowed  to  visit, , 
and  who,  with  the  stealthy  cunning  of  a  tigress, 
used  every  art  to  render  her  house  attractive  to  the 
innocent  child.  She  plied  her  with  sweetmeats 
and  rare  fruit,  tempted  her  by  novels,  and  inflamed 
her  imagination  by  descriptions  of  a  future  life  of 
luxury,  ease,  and  enjoyments,  of  which  liosalie  in 
her  simple  home  had  never  dreamed. 

As  soon  as  the  old  entremeiteuse,  for  such  was  her 
true  name  (of  which,  it  is  needless  to  remark,  Ros- 
alie's parents  were  utterly  ignorant)  considered  her 
prey  ready  for  her  grasp,  she  drove  her  to  a  sumpt- 


56  THE   SOCIAL   EVIL. 

Tious  mansion  in  tTie  Chaussee-d'Antin,  where  the 

aged  Comte  de  C paid  fifteen  hundred  francs 

to  the  Megera  for  his  first  interview,  of  which  the 
latter  handed  fifty  to  his  victim.  The  unfortunate 
girl,  during  the  ensuing  four  months,  graduated  in 
every  stage  of  debauchery,  passing  from  the  arms 
of  one  libertine  to  those  of  another,  and  gaining 
above  eight  hundred  pounds  for  her  keeper,  who 
gave  her  ten  pounds  pocket-money,  a  day,  and  nat- 
urally paid  the  expenses  of  the  Chaussee-d'Antin 
establishment.  But  seed  once  sown  in  the  living 
soul  never  wholly  dies.  In  the  midst  of  this  career 
of  vice,  the  memory  of  her  parents  flashed  on  the 
wretched  girl,  and  with  their  memory  came  re- 
morse and  bitter  anguish  of  soul.  After  a  sleep- 
less night,  haunted  by  recollections  of  her  father's 
love  and  of  her  mother's  watchful  care,  she  flung 
aside  the  rose  satin  curtains  of  her  gilded  alcove 
and,  starting  from  her  couch,  seated  herself  in  an 
arm  chair,  and  quietly  loading  a  pistol  which  she 
had  purchased  on  the  preceding  day,  blew  out  her 
brains. 

The  second  illustration  is  scarcely  less  dramatic : 
Two  young  men,  whose  mutual  acquaintance 
was  recent,  returning  about  eight  in  the  morning 
from  a  masked  ball  at  the  Opera,  were  awaiting  at 
a  restaurant  the  breakfiist  they  had  ordered.  "  My 
good  fellow,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two, "  a  tete-a-tete 
between  men  is  a  bore ;  I  vote  for  two  young  com- 
panions of  the  fair  sex  to  help  us  to  drink  our 
champagne."  "  Faugh  !  a  couple  of  cocoties !  I  am 
tired  of  them."  "  Non  j^cis  !  I  mean  the  fresh  little 
work-girls,  modest  and  well  brought  up,  who,  at  this 
instant,  are  quietly  at  their  work."  "  What !  do  you 
know  of  any  such  ?"  "  Kot  in  the  least,  but  I 
know  where  to  find  them,  so  order  covers  for  two 
more,  and  sleep  on  that  sofa,  so  as  to  be  fresh  for 
our  new  conquests."  The  young  speaker  took  up 
his  hat,  called  a  cab,  and  drove  to  a  house,  where, 


THE   SOCIAL   EVIL.  57 

indolently  reclining  on  a  sofa  lay  a  vulgar,  over- 
dressed woman,  whose  fat  fingers  bedizened  with 
rings,  and  cheeks  bedaubed  with  rouge,  at  once  be- 
trayed her  profession.  She  listened  to  the  prof- 
fered request  with  a  hideous  grin,  rang  a  bell,  and 
delivered  a  whispered  message  to  a  servant,  who 
presently  returned  accompanied  by  two  young 
girls.  Their  dress,  though  perfectly  simple,  be- 
tokened a  certain  degree  of  luxury  in  their  entour- 
age. The  eldest  was  about  twenty  and  the  young- 
est sixteen.  They  w^ere  the  daughters  of  parents 
in  an  independent  position,  but  who,  anticipating 
the  possibility  of  a  reverse  of  fortune,  wished  each 
of  their  children  to  learn  a  trade.  '*  You  will  ac- 
company Monsieur,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder,  ^'  here  are  two  napoleons,  but  if  either 
of  you  make  a  row,  as  you  did  last  time,  you  will 
see  what  I  shall  do."  The  party  drove  off.  Ar- 
rived at  the  restaurant,  the  young  libertine,  fol- 
lowed by  the  young  girls,  opened  the  door  of  the 
cabinet  pariiculier  with  a  "  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  worthy 
of  any  lungs ;  which  cry  was  answered  by  a  vocifer- 
ation of  rage,  shame  and  despair.  The  young  blaze 
was  in  the  presence  of  his  two  sisters ! 

These  stories  may  read  like  fiction,  but  Canler,  chef 
de  surete,  of  the  secret  police,  was  a  witness  to  them. 

In  concluding  this  chapter,  one  cannot  help  dwell- 
ing on  the  fact,  viz.,  that  the  sanitary  regulations  for 
Paris  and  all  French  cities,  as  regards  prostitutes, 
are  beneficial  in  the  highest  degree  to  the  commu- 
nity at  large  ;  and  it  would  be  well  for  the  health  of 
sailors  and  soldiers  if  similar  regulations  were  put 
in  force  in  England,  where  the  army  and,  more  es- 
pecially, the  navy  are  decimated  by  the  fatal  ravages 
of  disease.  The  English  Government  is  so  well 
aware  of  this,  that,  at  its  own  request,  a  report  is  now 
being  drawn  up  by  a  celebrated  Paris  doctor,  to 
initiate  England  and  America  in  the  organization 
adopted  in  this  country  as  regards  the  Social  Evil. 


PUBLIC  GARDEI^S  AND  BALLS. 


THE  JARDIN  MABILLE. 

Our  readers  have,  doubtless,  all  heard  of  this 
place.  Through  a  loftj  archway  (our  title-page 
being  a  perfect  representation,  as  it  was  from  a 
sketch  taken  by  our  artist  on  the  spot,)  literally 
blazing  with  light,  you  pass,  amidst  a  double  row 
of  spectators,  who  have  crowded  there  to  see  ces 
dames,  SiS  they  B^rvive,  en grande  toilette.  On  ordinarj^ 
nights  the  admission  fee  is  three  francs,  but  on 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  Mabille  indulges  in 
Grandes  Fetes  de  Mtit,  and  then  the  price  is  five 
francs  for  gentlemen — ladies,  two  francs.  On  these 
occasions,  Mabille  is  truly  beautiful.  Passing  the 
inner  gate,  you  enter  what  seems  an  interminable 
alley,  which,  lighted  with  the  most  artistically- 
decorated  lamps,  and  encircled  overhead  with 
wreaths  of  flame,  reaches  before  you  as  far  as  the 
gaze  can  penetrate.  Of  course  this  is  due  to  the 
scenic  painters'  skill,  the  alley  being  in  reality 
quite  short.  Half-way  down  it  you  come  to  an 
opening,  and  here  the  glories  of  the  place  burst 
upon  your  enchanted  gaze.  Fairy-like  is  scarcely 
a  term  to  apply  to  the  gorgeous  scene ;  the  sward 
teems  with  gay  flowers,  many-coloured  and  beauti- 
ful ;  amid  the  artificials  are  the  real,  so  that  you 
enjoy  the  sight  and  the  perfumes.  Then  there  are 
fountains,  where  the  waters  fall  and  splash  amid 
light  and  flowers,  so  disposed  as  to  render  the  as- 
pect all  the  more  beautiful  and  attractive.     There 


PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS.         59 

are  grottoes,  caves,  and  cascades,  deep  and  dark 
nooks  amid  the  foliage,  and  in  the  centre  a  circle 
dazzling  and  gorgeous,  in  which  there  is  a  Chinese 
pa;2:oda  for  the  musicians,  who,  above  the  crowds, 
play  the  waltzes,  the  polkas,  and,  most  attractive, 
the  quadrilles,  the  dancing  of  whicli  is  the  feature 
of  this  place.  Around  the  stand  for  the  orchestra 
is  the  dancing-circle,  and  around  this  a  promenade 
for  those  who  do  not  partake  in  the  saltatory. 
Those  who  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  cancan 
would  scarcely  believe  to  what  lengths  this  gentle 
j^astime  is  carried  here.  But  let  us  attempt  some 
description  of  it.  The  leader  of  the  orchestra 
hangs  out  the  sign  "  QucLdrille^'"  and  at  once  the 
promenaders  become  excited.  There  are  a  number 
of  Terpsichorean  celebrities  here,  and  of  course 
the  male  and  female  parties  seek  the  best  partners. 
This  detail  once  settled,  they  take  their  places  and 
the  music  commences.  As  the  leader  waves  his 
baton  and  the  preliminary  notes  of  the  orchestra  are 
heard,  the  fair  danseuse  very  delicately  proceeds  to 
draw  her  garters  tighter.  The  display  of  limb 
which  takes  place  thus  in  nowise  abashes  the  maid 
or  causes  the  blood  to  mantle  her  cheeks.  JSh  Men, 
oui!  But  the  time  for  action  has  come;  she  is 
to  bcdancer  and  croisser.  With  an  artistic  wave  she 
throws  her  clothes  somewhat  higher  than  her  head 
and  dashes  forward.  There  is  more  abandon  than 
grace  in  the  movement,  but  the  freedom  of  the 
thing  is  unbounded.  As  the  quadrille  progresses, 
the  dancer  becomes  more  and  more  excited  and  the 
more  unmindful  of  preconceived  ideas  concern- 
ing the  mode  of  wearing  female  apparel.  She 
manages  to  get  rid  of  the  voluminous  skirts  by 
throwing  them  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  limbs, 
thus  disenthralled,  make  the  most  of  the  unusual 
freedom ;  she  kicks  the  men's  hats  offj  stands  on 
one  leg,  then  seizes  one  foot,  thrusts  it  far  above 
her  head,  and  becomes  a  whirligig  for  the  nonce, 


60  PUBLIC   GAEDENS   AND   BALLS. 

turning  round  and  round  on  the  other  pedal  ex- 
tremity. As  the  cavalier  seid  moment  approaches, 
the  interest  of  the  spectators  increases ;  they  close 
around  the  apparently  insane  dancers  and  cheer 
them.  The  woman's  turn  arrives,  and  she  makes 
the  most  of  it.  Divesting  herself  of  all  encum- 
brances by  rolling  up  her  skirts  and  holding  them 
under  her  arm,  she  dashes  forward  and  executes 
some  strange  antics,  and  finally  throws  herself 
headlong  at  her  partner,  who  receives  the  precious 
burden  with  significant  gestures  and  smirks.  The 
spectators  have  become  excited  ;  they  applaud  an^ 
compliment  the  heroine  of  the  moment.  One 
must  not  imagine  that  only  women  dance  in  the 
extravagant  manner  we  have  mentioned;  men  rush 
about,  and  whirl  and  jump  in  the  most  insane  man- 
ner. Yet,  in  spite  of  the  folly  of  all  this,  people 
are  less  shocked  at  it  than  you  might  suppose.  The 
place  is  so  beautiful,  the  music  so  ravishing,  and 
the  crowds  behave  so  well  and  are  so  quiet,  that, 
save  the  first  blush  at  the  display  made  by  the  dan- 
senses,  one  feels  no  annoyance.  We  notice  that 
American  and  English  ladies  go  there  "just  once  " 
to  see  you  know,  and  that,  however  much  they 
may  be  shocked  at  the  dancing,  the  place  itself, 
with  its  crowds  of  gay,  elegantly- dressed  people, 
seems  to  prove  very  attractive.  At  least,  we  come 
to  this  conclusion,  from  the  fact  that  visits  to 
Mabille  are  often  repeated,  new-comers  being  escor- 
ted there  by  those  who  have  been  "just  once  "  and 
who  go  again  doubtless,  to  keep  the  uninitiated  in 
countenance.  Among  the  habitues  of  Mabille  may 
be  seen  numbers  of  the  leading  men  of  Paris, 
authors,  artists,  noblemen,  and  even  grave  states- 
men and  diplomatists. 


TURLURETTE. 
Our  readers  will  not  spend  half-an-hour  at  the 
Mabille  before  their  curiosity  will  be  excited  by  a 


PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS.         61 

young  blonde,  invariably  dressed  in  a  costume  of 
either  cherry  or  blue  colored  silk  or  satin,  of 
which  the  skirt  is  sometimes  veiled  by  a  tunic  of 
black  lace — her  hair  arranged  with  braids  in  the 
most  tasteful  manner,  and  withal  a  most  bewitching 
little  creature.  At  theatres,  she  may  be  seen  in  a 
stage  box ;  at  the  cirque,  in  a  seat  near  the  orches- 
tra; at  Mabille,  or  the  Valentino,  she  dances  la 
Grande  Duchesse  Quadrille  with  a  grace  that  would 
make  even  Clodoche  turn  pale  with  jealous  rage. 
She  patronizes  Helders,  w^here,  of  an  evening,  she 
quaffs  champagne  from  gold-rimmed  glasses,  and 
picks  to  pieces  a  crevasse  bordelaise  with  delicious 
desinvolture.  At  the  race-course,  her  well-appointed 
Victoria  is  sure  to  take  up  the  most  conspicuous 
position.  Wherever  she  appears,  her  elegant  and 
eccentric  toilet,  her  fascinating  glance,  her  chic 
attracts  attention,  whilst  her  quasi-ubiquity  inspires 
curiosity. 

The  sobriquet  of  this  little  witch  is  Turlurette. 
She  is  but  twenty-two ;  her  eyes,  which  are  blue, 
are  large  and  very  expressive;  her  mouth  is  small 
and  well-formed ;  her  teeth  a  row  of  pearls ;  her 
hair,  blonde  and  undyed;  her  face  round,  and  her 
expression  bewitching.  Her  real  name  is  Her- 
mance  Donze.  Three  years  ago  she  came  to  Paris 
from  her  native  town  of  Belfort,  in  Alsace,  and 
was  engaged  as  cashier,  or  dame  de  comptoir  at  a 
restaurant  kept  by  a  relative.  One  fine  morning 
the  fair  Hermance  was  absent  without  leave — she 
had  taken  the  express  for  the  realm  of  Cythere. 
Six  weeks  clasped,  at  the  expiration  of  which  time 
the  ungrateful  Lovelace  restored  her  to  her 
freinds ;  thence  commenced  the  series  of  " cascades'' 
[vide  ""  Grande  Duchesse ")  which  have  conferred 
upon  her  the  celebrity  she  at  present  enjoys. 

There  was  weeping  and  wailing  among  the  demi- 
monde, some  months  back,  as  a  rumour  of  Tur- 
lurette having  consented  to  accompany  a  Brazilian 


62  PUBLIC    GARDENS   AND   BALLS. 

diamond-merchant  to  South  America.  Dresses  of 
fabulous  splendour  were  ordered  by  this  Croesus  of 
the  South ;  hats,  bonnets,  soaps,  fard  a  la  Mtion, 
poudre  a  la  Marechale,  perfume  a  It  Persienne,  &c., 
in  a  profusion  that  astonished  even  the  greatest 
vendor  in  Paris,  when  at  the  last  hour,  as  the  car- 
riage waited  to  convey  her  to  the  train,  Turlurette 
changed  her  mind,  and  the  Brazilian  had  fain  to 
start  without  his  companion. 

Tears  shed  at  her  supposed  departure  have  crys- 
talized  into  rivieres  of  diamonds,  while  millionaires 
have  succeeded  each  other  by  the  score  as  worship- 
pers of  the  rose-clad  syren.  Her  shrine  is  well  worth 
a  visit.  Imagine  a  spacious  apartment,  furnished 
with  draperies  of  sea-green  velvet,  fringed  with 
gold,  carpeted  with  magnificent  tapis  d'  Aubusson, 
embroidered  so  cunningly  in  birds  and  flowers 
that  the  visitor,  as  he  treads  on  this  wonderful 
tapestry,  fears  to  crush  a  living  bird  or  destroy  a 
fragrant  blossom.  In  niches,  statues  of  Parian 
marble  adorn  the  apartment,  and  paintings,  fresh 
from  the  ateliers  of  the  best  modern  artists,  are 
placed  in  panels  of  sculptured  boiserie. 


THE  CLOSERIE   DES  LILAS, 

OR 

JARDIN  BULLIER. 

The  terrestrial  paradise  of  the  students,  is  known 
to  the  habitues  as  the  Bullier  or  Prado,  according 
to  the  season  of  the  year.  It  is  called  Bullier 
(which  is  the  name  of  the  late  proprietor)  in  sum- 
mer, and  in  winter  the  Prado.  The  ball-room  is 
the  most  celebrated  in  the  city,  and  is  perhaps  one 
of  its  greatest  curiosities.  It  is  here  that  the  pe- 
culiar dance  called  the  cancan  is  performed  in  all 
its  extravagance  and  wildness.  The  establishment 
is  situated  to  the  left  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel, 
and  just  beyond  the  Garden  of  the  Luxembourg. 


PUBLIC   GARDENS  AND   BALLS.  63 

The  gailj-painted  facade  of  the  building  is  illu- 
minated in  gorgeous  style,  and  an  immense  crowd 
of  les  misirahles  gather  in  front  to  admire  the  toi- 
lets of  the  gay  women  as  they  enter,  and  feast 
their  ears  upon  the  strains  of  lively  music  which 
stream  through  the  doors.  Poor  creatures  !  In 
all  their  poverty  and  wretchedness,  their  hearts  are 
doubtless  filled  with  envious  longings  at  the  sight 
of  the  gay  and  laughing  women  who  flutter  in  and 
out  like  bright-colored  butterflies.  Little  do  they 
dream  that  beneath  all  the  splendid  exterior  which 
dazzles  their  eyes  there  lies  far  more  misery  than 
beneath  their  own  rags  and  poverty. 

Entrance  to  the  saloon  is  gained  by  a  descent  of 
a  flight  of  steps  some  ten  or  fifteen  feet  in  depth, 
conducting  to  a  large  and  brilliantly  illuminated 
ball-room,  half  subterranean,  and  capable  of  con- 
taining several  thousand  people.  The  saloon  is 
entirely  roofed  over  in  winter,  but  during  the  sum- 
mer one-half  is  left  uncovered,  forming  quite  a 
handsome  little  garden,  ornamented  with  foun- 
tains, statues,  and  charming  little  alcoves,  where 
the  enamoured  swain  may  enjoy  some  degree  of 
seclusion  with  his  fair  partner. 

Terrific  yells  from  the  men — French  yells,  which 
are  not  like  any  other  yells,  and  what  is  more, 
students'  yells,  which  are  not  like  any  other 
French  yells — mingle  with  the  screams  of  the 
women,  and  rise  musically  up  to  the  gay  and  lively 
accompanient  of  the  clinking  of  glasses  and  the 
shuffling  of  feet.  It  is  here,  in  the  midst  of  this 
storm  of  revelry  and  excitement,  that  the  French 
student  may  be  seen  in  all  his  glory ;  here  he  lays 
aside  all  restraint,  and  gives  his  whole  soul  up  to 
enjoyment.  It  is  here,  too,  that  the  women,  shar- 
ing by  force  of  association  the  utter  abandon  of  the 
students,  lay  aside  all  the  magnificent  and  stately 
airs,  which  they  wear  elsewhere,  and  throw  them- 
selves wildly  into  the  vortex  of  dissipation. 


64         PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS. 

As  a  general  thing,  tlie  women  who  frequent 
this  are  women  of  the  quarter — their  name  is  legi- 
on— and  who,  by  constant  association  with  the  stu- 
dents, have  acquired  a  character  almost  identical 
with  their  own.  There  are,  however,  many  of  the 
''  upper  ten  "  of  the  demi-monde  who  are  frequent 
visitors  to  the  student's  paradise  ;  and  the  same 
exquisite  cocotte,  who  steps  to-night  in  stately  dig- 
nity and  queenly  robes,  may  be  seen  to-morrow  at 
Bullier  in  her  short  skirt,  flinging  her  heels  wildly 
into  the  air,  and  taking  excruciating  postures,  wor- 
thy of  the  finest  contortionist  in  the  Cirque  de 
Champs-Elysees  The  peculiar  Parisian  dance,  bap- 
tized by  the  name  of  cancan,  is  perhaps  the  most 
exciting  of  all  such  species  of  amusement,  both  for 
the  spectator  and  the  dancer.  It  has  but  little  reg- 
ularity about  it,  and,  to  the  spectator  who  sees  it 
for  the  first  time,  it  has  apparently  none.  It  has, 
however,  its  small  amount  of  system,  but  the  prin- 
cipal merit  of  the  dancer  is  within  two  given 
points — the  beginning  and  the  end  of  a  strain — to 
commit  as  many  extravagances  as  possible,  and  to 
throw  his  body  into  as  many  unnatural  hizarres  po- 
sitions as  possible  for  the  structure  of  the  human 
frame  to  admit  of.  A  very  fine  accomplishment, 
for  instance,  is  to  be  able  to  throw  a  back  somer- 
sault in  the  face  of  your  fair  partner,  while  she 
elevates  her  leg  in  the  air  until  the  tip  of  her  toes 
and  the  crown  of  her  head  are  upon  the  same  hor- 
izontal line.  It  is  not  at  all  inartistic  to  be  able  to 
double  yourself  up  into  a  knot,  and  roll  upon  the 
fioor,  while  the  beauteous  daughters  of  Terpsichore 
dance  around  in  a  circle,  after  the  manner  of  the 
savages  in  the  Sandwich  Islands.  It  is  a  good 
thing,  also,  to  be  able  to  agitate  your  legs,  arms, 
and  head  with  such  rapidity  as  to  present  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  misty  shadow.  This  accomplish- 
ment, however,  I  am  told  is  but  rarely  met  with. 
In  short,  the  more  horrible  or  impossible  the  po- 


PUBLIC    GARDENS   AND    BALLS.  65 

sition  the  more  artistic  the  dancer.  The  province 
of  the  fair  sex  lies  principally  in  the  legs,  although 
a  few  unnatural  and  comic  contortions  of  the  body 
are  considered  no  mean  addition  to  the  talent  for 
*' elevation."  The  fair  one  who  lifts  her  legs  the 
highest,  and  with  the  greatest  rapidity  and  fre- 
quency, is  considered  the  most  artistic,  and  a  fa- 
vorite and  charming  amusement  of  the  beau  sexe  is 
to  send  some  open-mouthed  greenhorn's  hat  flying 
with  the  tips  of  her  toes. 

To  sum  up,  the  student's  ball  is  undoubtedly  the 
greatest  curiosity  in  the  Quartier  Latin,  if  not  in 
all  Paris.  It  was  created  by  the  students,  and  has 
always  been  sustained  by  them.  The  effect  of  the 
peculiar  character  of  students  is  here  more  plainly 
visible  than  anywhere  else.  The  utter  abandon  of 
their  natures,  and  their  entire  disregard  of  all  con- 
ventionalities have  here  their  full  sway.  The  ter- 
rible influence  which  licentiousness  and  too  much 
freedom  of  thought  have  produced  upon  the  un- 
happy female  portion  of  the  quarter  is  here  present- 
ed to  view  in  its  most  glaring  colors. 


WAUXHALL. 

Open  on  Sundays,  Mondays,  Wednesdays,  and 
Fridays.  This  ball  is  frequented  by  the  young  in- 
habitants of  the  Chateau  d'Eau  Quartier.  Pilo- 
do,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra,  is  a  master  of  his 
art ;  it  has  been  said  of  him  that,  with  his  bow,  he 
would  make  an  elephant  dance  in  time.  Men  of 
fashion  are  seldom  met  with  in  this  salle,  which  is 
extensively  patronized  by  the  calicois  of  the  adjoin- 
ing magasins,  Eue  de  la  Douane  is  out  of  the  way 
for  the  gandins  of  the  Boulevards,  or  for  the  mas- 
ters of  the  stately  mansions  of  the  Champs-Elysees 
who  consequently  frequent  the  other  gardens,  such 
as  Mabille,  &c. 


66  PUBLIC    GARDENS   AND    BALLS. 

LA  REINE  BLANCHE. 

Open  Sunday,  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Friday. 
Entrance,  one  franc  Sundays,  and  half  a  franc  on 
other  nights.  This  is '  essentially  the  workman's 
ball.  The  situation  is  lugubrious,  as  this  much- 
frequented  place  of  amusement  is  close  to  the 
Montmartre  Cemetery.  The  blondes,  brunes,  and 
red-haired  belles  who  congregate  here  do  not  dance 
with  the  less  spirit  because  of  '^  God's  acre,"  where 
lie  heaped  the  countless  dead,  being  within  a  few 
yards  of  their  flying  feet.  It  must  be  acknowd- 
edged  that  at  no  public  ball  in  Paris  are  there 
prettier  or  fresher  young  girls  to  be  seen  than  at 
the  Reine  Blanche.  Why  the  name  of  that  saint- 
like Queen,  who  scarcely  approved  of  her  son  St. 
Louis  embracing  his  own  wife,  should  be  invoked 
as  an  segis,  beneath  whose  protection  the  Manon 
Lescauts  of  the  nineteenth  century  dance  the  can- 
can and  perform  still  stranger  feats,  is  not  for  the 
writer  to  say.     So  it  is,  Vogue  la  Galere  ! 


BAL  CONSTANT,  or  THE  MILLE  COLONNES. 

Open  Sunday,  Monday,  and  Wednesday.  Sit- 
uated in  the  noisy  Rue  de  la  Gaite.  Beware  of 
passing  along  the  said  street  on  a  Sunday,  or  on  a 
workman's  holiday  Monday ;  so  many  are  the  tav- 
erns and  gidngettes  it  contains,  that  on,  these  fete 
days  you  will  therein  meet  more  drunken  men 
than  in  any  other  quarter  of  the  city.  Les  Mille 
Colonnes  was  founded  by  M.  M.  Constant,  and  may 
be  considered  as  the  Mabille  of  the  Quartier  Mont- 
parnasse.  Its  visitors  can  sup  there  every  evening 
of  the  week,  and  dance  there  three  evenings  out 
of  the  seven.  Admission  on  each  night,  except 
Wednesday,  is  one  half  franc ;  on  that  night  the 
price  is  raised  to  one  franc.  The  society  which 
makes  the  Mille  Colonnes  its  place  of  amusement, 


PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS.         67 

is  of  a  mixed  character.  Young  girls  may  be  seen 
there  with  their  parents,  young  women  with  their 
lovers,  and  fancy  men  in  search  of  a  mistress.  The 
more  sedate  portion  of  the  company  sit  around 
small  tables,  and  partake  of  coiFee,  beer,  or  lemon- 
ade. This  feature  of  the  Mille  Colonnes  gives 
that  ball  a  character  peculiar  to  itself,  and  is  well 
worth  studying. 


THE  BAL  DOURLANS, 

Avenue  "Wagram,  near  the  Barriere  de  I'Etoile,  is 
specially  patronized  by  the  ladies'  maids,  cooks, 
and  valets,  belonging  to  the  English  and  Parisian 
aristocratic  families,  which  inhabit  that  quarter  of 
Paris,  of  which  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  is  the  centre, 
whence  radiate  the  nxagnificent  avenues  designed 
by  the  First  Emperor,  and  carried  into  execution 
by  liis  nephew  Napoleon  III.  Within  its  brilliant 
enceinte,  the  stranger  will  be  surprised  to  hear  half 
a  dozen  European  languages  spoken  in  their  na- 
tive purity,  and  less  of  French  than  of  German 
and  English.  This  ball  is,  however,  likewise  attend- 
ed by  more  respectable  specimens  of  the  Parisian 
w^orking  classes  than  are  to  be  met  with  at  any  to 
which  the  attention  of  the  reader  has  been  called. 
A  young  artisan  or  mechanic  will  gladly  take 
his  bride  there,  on  the  Monday  after  her  wedding — • 
for  which  event  Saturday  is  the  people's  day — and 
daughters  of  small  tradesmen  may  be  seen  there, 
accompanied  by  their  parents.  The  arrangements 
as  to  the  bosquets,  as  well  as  to  the  refreshments 
to  be  obtained  on  payment,  are  the  same  as  exist 
at  the  Bal  Constant  or  Mille  Colonnes  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Gaite.  It  has  been  remarked  that  the  Bal 
Dourlans  occupies  the  same  position  in  the  quar- 
tier  of  the  Arc  de  I'Etoile  as  does  the  Bal  Const- 
ant in  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite. 


68  PUBLIC   GARDENS   AND   BALLS. 

THE  ELYSJ&E  MONTMARTRE, 

Boulevard  Rochecliouart,  frequented  by  the  riff-raff 
of  the  literary  or  artistic  world,  idle  shop-boys, 
gamins,  and  old  libertines  in  search  of  young  mis- 
tresses. 


THE  CHATEAU  ROUGE, 

Chaussee  Clignancourt.  A  certain  historic  inter- 
est is  attached  to  the  site  of  this  once  popular  place 
of  amusement,  inasmuch  as  it  was  the  scene  of  the 
loves  of  the  fair  and  fascinating  Gabrielle  d'Estrees 
and  her  gay  and  gallant  lover  Henry  lY.  Twenty- 
five  years  ago  this  ball  was  the  rage.  It  went  out 
of  fashion,  and  was  almost  forgotten,  but  having 
been  redecorated  and  renovated,  its  brilliant  por- 
tal once  more  attracts  a  crowd  within  its  precincts. 
In  1865  a  novel  idea  occurred  to  its  director.  He 
initiated  prizes  for  the  best  dancing.  Watches 
were  to  be  danced  for  by  its  male  frequenters,  and 
dresses  by  its  fair  patronesses.  The  experiment, 
however,  proved  a  failure.  The  competition  en- 
gendered hatred,  anger,  jealousy,  and  every  other 
evil  passion  ;  quarrels  ensued,  blows  were  dealt, 
sergents-de-ville  interfered,  and  Monsieur  le  directeur 
was  compelled  to  relinquish  his  scheme. 


BAL  DE  LA  BOULE  NOIRE. 

By  a  happy  combination  of  restaurant  and  salle 
de  danse,  the  Boule  Noire  is  the  rendezvous  of  the 
Quartier  Breda,  not  only  on  account  of  its  spa- 
cious ball-room,  but  also  because  of  the  excellence 
of  its  cuisine  and  the  merit  of  its  cellars.  Sundays, 
Mondays,  and  Thursdays  are  ball  nights ;  but  on 
every  night  of  the  week  its  salons  iMrticuliers  and 
general  dining-rooms  are  crowded  by  parties  intent 
on  a  good  supper. 


PUBLIC   GARDENS   AND   BALLS.  69 

BAL  DU  VIEUX  CHliNE. 

The  Bal  da  Yieiix  Clieiie,  Rue  Mouffetard,  dif- 
fers as  essentially  in  character  and  style  from  the 
Bal  Mabille  as  do  the  patrician  mansions  of  the 
Champs-Elysees  from  the  crowded  and  unsightly 
tenements  of  that  chiffonnkr  quarter.  .  The  city 
ragmen  have  held  their  revels  for  the  last  thirty 
years,  with  undeviating  punctualitj^  on  the  same 
nights,  in  the  same  spot,  and  with  the  same  ad- 
juncts, as  on  the  first  evening,  when  it  occurred  to 
the  fraternity  to  organize  a  ball-room  for  their  own 
special  entertainment.  The  said  ball-room  is  neith- 
er spacious  nor  clean.  It  is  simply  the  back  par- 
lor of  a  wine  shop.  The  atmosphere,  redolent 
with  unutterable  odors,  is  chiefly  composed  of  the 
smoke  of  the  vilest  tobacco.  The  orchestra  is 
neither  led  by  Strauss  nor  Waldtenffel ;  and  yet  the 
company  dance,  and,  moreover,  dance  in  good 
time,  and  appear  thoroughly  to  enjoy  themselves. 
Victor  Hugo  in  his  characters  of  Gavrache  and 
Claque  Sous,  with  their  Eponines  and  Fantines, 
has  endeavored  to  cast  a  halo  of  romance  over 
the  young  street  Arabs,  who  may  be  seen  whirling 
round  the  narrow  space  kept  clear  for  dancing ; 
but  in  sober  earnest,  there  is  small  foundation  for 
the  poetic  element  in  the  wretched  voyoits  and  voy- 
outes,  who,  rapidly  graduating  in  vice,  will  sooner 
or  later  turn  into  jail  birds,  and  be  lodged  at  the 
expense  of  the  State  in  the  Prisons  of  St  Lazare, 
or  transported  gratis  to  the  hulks  at  Cayenne. 

For  the  student  of  human  nature  in  all  its  phas- 
es, the  ragmen's  balls  present  a  curious,  although 
repulsive,  photograph  of  the  habits  and  customs 
of  the  dregs  of  Paris  life.  While  inhaling  its  pes- 
tiferous atmosphere,  the  looker-on,  remembering 
the  old  nursery  rhyme,  involuntarily  exclaims  : — 

Heigh  ho  !  the  beggars  have  come  to  town ; 
Some  in  rags, 
Some  in  tags, 
Some  in  velvet  gowns. 


70         PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS. 

To  enter  into  special  notices  of  each  of  the  pub- 
lic ball-rooms  of  this  capital  would  be  simply  mo- 
notonous. Having  given  the  reader  some  hints  as 
to  the  idiosyncracies  of  the  most  characteristic  of 
these  places  of  entertainment,  a  list  of  those  at 
present  open  to  the  public  will  suffice  to  put  him 
au  courant  of  the  various  amusements  in  which  he 
can  indulge  during  his  visit  to  Paris  at  Night. 
Their  name  is  legion,  but  of  tliose  most  frequented 
the  following  are  the  principal  : — 

Elysee  des  Arts Boulevard  Bourdon. 

Bal  du  Commerce Belleville. 

Le   Chalet Batignolles. 

Breton Boulevard  de  I'Hopital. 

Bal  du  Commerce a  la  Villette. 

Cafe  Fuerret  Belleville.    - 

Pare  Saint  Fargeoux  Belleville. 

Folies  Robert Belleville. 

Fossy Belleville. 

Bal  des  Delices Montmartre, 

Le  Salon  de  Mars Crenelle. 

Debray Montmartre. 

Jardin  de  Paris Montrouge. 

Le  Pre  aux  Clercs Rue  du  Bac. 

Tivoli  d'Hiver Rue  de  Crenelle  St.  Honore. 

Favier Belleville. 

Dumont a  la  Chapelle. 

Bald'Orient — 

Tivoli Montmartre. 

Bal  des  Chiens,  Les  Barreaux  Verts,  Bal  de  rArdoise, 
Bal  des  Elephants,  &c. 


COMMENTARY. 

Reader,  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  during  the 
season  of  the  "  Mabille"  and  '^  Closerie  des  Lilas'^ 
that  at  the  hour  of  midnight — when  the  balls  are 
over  and  the  violins  are  replaced  in  their  boxes, 
having  concluded  their  labors  for  the  night — that 
such  is  not  the  case  with  the  danseuse,  who  has  been 
the  attraction  of  the  hour, — not  even  with  those 
who  have  been  the  most  loudly  applauded  ?  Has 
it  never  occurred  to  you  after  leaving  the  "Ma- 
bille"  to  stroll  at  random  upon  the  Boulevard — 


PUBLIC  GARDENS  AND  BALLS.         71 

lost  ill  revery — while  the  dark  shades  of  night  are 
gradually  giving  way  to  the  light  of  morning !  A 
drunkard,  who  has  resolved  the  prohlem  of  mak- 
ing the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa  walk,  traces  the 
zigzag  course  of  the  lightning  in  the  clouds.  The 
vagabond  who  slept  d  la  belle  etoile,  perceiving  in 
his  sleep  the  vigilant  eye  of  a  sergent-de-ville,  pur- 
sues his  march  like  the  Wandering  Jew,  and  hides 
his  thin  profile  in  the  shade  of  the  neighboring 
street,  i^ext  the  cUffonnier  passes,  flashing  upon 
the  silence  the  ironic  rays  of  his  lantern.  This  in- 
different philosopher  is  the  grave  digger,  who  is 
charged  to  bury  the  turmoil  and  glitter  of  the  day. 
At  this  hour,  when  everything  around  you  as- 
sumes a  strange  and  suspicious  physiognomy,  the 
figure  of  a  woman  brushes  past  the  trees  upon  the 
Boulevard.  It  is  a  long  and  rustling  silk  dress 
which  sweeps  the  dust.  It  is  the  light  creaking  of 
a  new  boot  upon  the  walk ;  the  sharp  click  of  her 
parasol  upon  the  pavement.  An  atmosphere  of 
perfume  precedes,  envelopes,  and  follows  this  in- 
distinct form.  This  woman  who  at  intervals  hur- 
ries or  slackens  her  steps,  has  perhaps  neither 
breakfasted  nor  dined,  but  she  has  been  over- 
whelmed with  plaudits  at  the  "  Mabille"  for  a  step 
of  boldness  and  effrontery,  sufiacient  to  overthrow 
the  statue  of  Modesty.  Passing  the  glittering 
windows  of  a  restaurant  d  la  mode  she  casts  a  hungry 
glance  upon  the  sparkling  glass,  through  which 
her  ear  (rendered  doubly  acute  from  hunger)  hears 
the  harmonious  rattle  of  the  dishes  of  a  feast, 
where  the  good  fortune  which  had  deserted  her  has 
been  bestowed  upon  some  of  her  more  fortunate 
rivals.  Like  Titus,  she  has  lost  her  day.  Her 
skilful  admixture  of  white,  carmine,  and  bistre  has 
failed  to  aid  her  in  entrapping  either  ignorant 
youth,  or  vicious  old  age.  She  must,  then,  oh  ter- 
ror !  quiet  with  her  vulgar  eloquence  the  old 
shrew,  whom  she  is  powerless  to  pay.     This  arti- 


7^  PUBLIC   BALLS   AND   CONCERTS. 

sane  m  seductions  hesitates  and  trembles  before  the 
most  difficult — the  most  terrible  of  all. 

These  stars  of  the  public  balls,  who  sleep  not, 
and  drag  upon  the  pavement  of  the  streets,  like 
feeble  rays,  silk  gauze  and  lace,  are  spectacles  in- 
voluntarily sad ;  gay  toilettes  are  oftentimes  with- 
out domicile,  and  always  objects  of  commisera- 
tion. 


PUBLIC  BALLS  AKD  COE'CEETS. 

THE  CASINO. 

(rue  cadet.) 

Next  to  the  Bal  Mabille,  the  Casino,  situated  in 
the  Rue  Cadet,  is  the  most  fashionable  place  of 
nocturnal  winter  dissipation  of  this  gay  city.  To 
omit  a  visit  there  would  be  a  capital  error  for  those 
who  wish  to  realize  the  most  characteristic  scenes 
of  life  in  Paris  hy  Night.  The  Casino  is  used  for 
concerts  and  balls,  being  fitted  up  with  a  double 
gallery  on  the  ground,  as  well  as  on  the  first  fioor. 
Li  the  former  the  men  smoke,  whilst  the  latter, 
which  is  divided  into  boxes,  is  much  frequented  by 
those  among  the  fair  portion  of  the  company  whose 
charms  scarcely  bear  the  full  glare  of  gaslights,  or 
whose  toilettes  cannot  rival  in  freshness  those  of 
their  more  favored  sisters ;  these  are  chiefly  ser- 
vant-girls out  of  place,  work-girls  seeking  employ- 
ment, or  discharged  sub-mistresses  of  boarding- 
schools,  who  crowd  the  centre  of  the  hall. 

On  ball-nights,  that  is  on  Sundays,  Mondays, 
Wednesdays,  and  Fridays,  the  hall  is  thronged  by 
the  second  class  of  cocoiieSy  who,  having  '^fait "  the 


PUBLIC  BALLS  AND  CONCERTS.         73 

Boulevards,  and  failed  to  secure  a  dinner,  have 
come  to  the  Casino  in  the  hopes  of  capturing  a 
green  British,  American,  or  Russian  subject,  who 
will  give  them  a  supper. 

On  concert-nights,  that  is,  on  Tuesdays,  Thurs- 
days, and  Saturdays,  the  haute  bicherie  crowd  the 
promenade  hall,  behind  the  orchestra,  where,  to  in- 
vite them  to  conquest,  are  hung  several  portraits — 
amongst  others,  that  of  Boulanger,  said  to  have  a 
crowned  head  in  the  list  of  her  lovers;  of  Rachel, 
for  whose  favors  princes  fought,  and  to  secure 
whose  artistic  services  the  greatest  of  modern  trag- 
edians composed  dramas;  of  Fanny  Elsler,  the 
queen  of  terpsichorists,  the  beloved  of  an  emperor; 
and,  strangely  jumbled  with  these,  the  pictures  of 
the  most  distinguished  women  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, whose  shades,  if  permitted  to  perambulate 
this  nether  world,  would  scarcely  feel  gratified  at 
being  exhibited  to  such  company  as  assemble  in 
the  Casino, 

Madame  Campan,  for  instance,  directress  of  the 
Imperial  School  established  by  the  first  Emperor, 
for  the  daughters  of  his  military  oflacers;  the  aris- 
tocratic Recamier,  whose  stern  virtue  resisted  the 
solicitations  of  a  Chateaubriand  ;  Madame  de  Stael, 
of  whose  political  essays  even  the  first  I^apoleon 
stood  in  awe ;  the  agreeable  and  learned  Duchess 
of  Abrantes,  &c.  Much  scandalized  must  these 
stately  dames  be  at  the  scenes  enacted  beneath 
their  portraits. 

On  concert-nights,  the  music,  directed  by  Arban, 
is  admirable,  but  the  cocottes^  and  not  its  charms, 
are  the  magnets  which  attract  within  the  precincts 
of  the  Casino,  the  men  about  town  who  are  out  on 
a  lark.  The  promenoir^  adorned  by  the  above-men- 
tioned portraits,  is  on.  these  nights  the  market-place 
where  the  members  of  la  haute  hkherie  are  bought 
and  sold,  as  freel}^  as  are  the  gazelle-eyed  young 
girls  of  Georo'ia  and   Circassia  on  the  slave-mar- 


74  PUBLIC  BALLS   AND   CONCERTS. 

kets  of  Cairo  or  Constantinople,  with  this  differ- 
ence, however ;  the  slave-girl  of  the  East  is  the  in- 
voluntary victim  of  a  successful  razzia,  and  loathes 
her  fate,  whilst  the  painted  and  perfumed  hiche  of 
the  Paris  troitoiry  is  the  willing  vendor  of  her  own 
person. 

In  the  winter  of  186-,  a  youth,  emancipated  for 
a  hrief  season  from  the  surveillance  of  tutors  and 
guardians,  and  launched  on  the  shoals  and  quick- 
sands of  Paris  life  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  the 
French  language  and  other  polite  accomplish- 
ments, was  enrolled  amongst  the  frequenters  of  the 
Casino.  The  boy  had  been  educated  at  home, 
under  the  eye  of  a  well-meaning  but  injudicious 
mother,  and  consequently  was,  as  may  be  suppos- 
ed, in  utter  ignorance  of  the  world  and  its  ways. 

On  the  jdrst  evening,  he  was  introduced  to  a 
young  danseiise  who  told  him  she  was  a  Russian, 
and  that  her  name  was  Machinka  Kowkowsky 
(she  stood  inscribed  on  the  police  books  as  Jeanne 
Legros,  of  Alsace) ;  to  her  sobriquet,  ''Jille  de  Vair," 
she  made  no  allusion.  She  was  bashful,  and  had  a 
pretty  trick  of  blushing  and  trembling.  Young 
Lord  Y— — -straightway  fell  in  love  with  this  charm- 
ing young  person,  and  a  few  days  later  confided  to 
a  wide-awake  friend,  who  knew  Paris  aux  bonis  de 
ses  doights,  that  she  loved  him  for  his  own  sake, 
adducing  in  proof  of  this  statement  how  it  had 
come  to  pass,  that  she  had  proved  the  purity  of  her 
flame,  by  refusing  all  other  partners,  and  keeping 
through  several  successive  evenings  to  him  alone. 
''A  very  she-devil,"  impolitely  remarked  the 
friend.  "  An  angel,  only  you  dont  know  her,"  re- 
plied Lord  Y and  so  disinterested  she  even  re- 
fuses a  banquet."  ''  To  rob  you  on  a  more  exten- 
sive scale,"  retorted  his  incredulous  auditor.  On 
the  very  evening  that  this  conversation  took  place, 

Lord  Y poured  out  the  tale  of  his  love  in  the 

willing    ear    of    the   ingenuous    Machinka,    who 


PUBLIC    BALLS    AND    CONCERTS.  75 

blushed  and  trembled,  and,  after  much  hesitation, 

gave  Lord  V leave  to  call   on  her  next  day. 

Forty  eight  hours  elapsed.  His  friend  was  smok- 
ing a  chibouque  in  his  sanctum,   overlooking   the 

Rue  de  Rivoli,  when  Lord  V unceremoniously 

entered.  He  spoke  as  follows  :  "  My  dear  fellow, 
lend  me  two  thousand  francs  at  once;  I  will  pay 
you  back  next  week,  when  my  allowance  is  due. 
That  poor  little  Machinka  is  on  the  point  of  being 
turned  into  the  street.  Her  rent  is  due,  and  she 
has  not  a  single  farthing."  The  friend  w^as  heart- 
less enough  to  refuse  the  loan;  the  boy's  tailor, 
however,  who  had  a  more  elastic  conscience,  at 
once  handed  him  a  bundle  of  crisp  notes  with  in- 
terest at  only  20  per  cent. — "  but  you'll  say  nothing 

about  this,  my  Lord."     And  oif  drove  Lord  V 

to  the  Rue  Breda,  where  dwelt  his  timid  dove. 
Dashing  up  the  richly  carpeted  stairs,  he  paused  at 
the  door  of  her  apartment,  and  rang  gently,  lest  he 
should  startle  her  whom  he  had  left,  but  a  brief  hour, 
bathed  in  tears  and  trembling  violently,  fearing, 
she  said,  "  that  a  horrid  sergent-de-ville  would  come 
and  carry  her  away,  or  perchance  the  Prefect  him- 
self, to  some  prison,  where  she  would  never  see 
him  again."  The  door  was  opened  by  the  femme- 
de-chamhre.  ''  CielT'  she  thought  that  little  ring 
could  be  but  one  of  the  fournisseurs.  Peals  of 
laughter   Irom   an    inner    room-  struck   on   Lord 

Y 's  ear,  but  no  suspicion  entered  his  innocent 

mind.  Believing  himself  the  only  male  biped  priv- 
ileged to  cross  the  threshold,  he  advanced  and 
quietly  opened  the  door  of  her  boudoir.  The  boy 
started  and  turned  pale.  On  a  sofa  of  turquoise 
blue  velvet  was  streched  the  herculean  form  of  an 
American  whose  attention  to  Machinka  had  ex- 
cited his  jealousy  on  a  previous  occasion;  whilst 
on  a  pile  of  embroidered  cushions,  in  the  most 
graceful  of  attitudes,  his  arm  around  her  waist,  her 
head  resting  on  his  shoulder,  sat,  or  rather  lay,  her 
back  to  the  door,  the  fair  Machinka. 


76  PUBLIC    BALLS   AND    CONCERTS. 

^ot  having  heard  his  step,  her  merry  tale  was 
interrupted.  "  Oh !  if  you  did  but  know  !  how  I 
feared  you  would  arrive  before  my  little  Anglais 
would  go ;  I  had  to  cry  very  much,  and  relate  to 
him  a  long  story  about  rent  and  sergeiits-de-ville. 
He  promised  to  come  back  this  evening  with  a 
handful  of  gold.  Pamre  petit  beta  il  est  si  migmn  !  " 
Youthful  reader,  take  warning. 


SALLE  VALENTINO. 

(rue  ST.   HONOKE.) 

This  is  especially  a  winter  ball  and  concert 
room,  open  every  evening,  upon  the  same  princi- 
ple as  the  Casino,  balls  and  concerts  being  given 
upon  alternate  nights.  The  ball  room,  a  magnifi- 
cent one,  is  divided  into  two  spacious  apartments, 
each  measuring  a  hundred  feet  in  length,  separa- 
ted by  columns  of  Moorish  architecture  painted 
with  gay  colors,  which  are  reflected  in  the  immense 
mirrors  which  adorn  the  walls.  It  is  the  great  re- 
sort of  fast  men  and  cocottes,  who,  however,  dance 
the  cancan  with  even  more  entrain  than  does  the 
haute  bicherie  which  congregates  at  Mabille.  The 
orchestra  is  admirable,  and  on  concert  nights  the 
Salle  Valentino  is  attended  by  a  very  respectable 
audience.  Besides  music  and  dancing,  this  place 
oifers  many  other  attractions  to  the  lounger  in  Par- 
is. Such,  for  instance,  as  a  billiard  table,  a  shoot- 
ing gallery,  &c.  When  full  the  Salle  Valentino  is 
certrdnly  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  animated 
of  all  the  Paris  ball  rooms,  and  here  may  be  seen 
the  best  specimens  of  the  licentious  dancing  of 
this  metropolis.  !N"o  stranger  who  visits  the  capi- 
tal in  winter  should  omit  a  visit  to  the  Valentino. 
Admission,  two  francs. 


DAN^CroG  SCHOOLS. 


A  QUARTER  of  a  centurj  lias  elapsed  since  Cella- 
rius  transported  the  Polka  from  Lithuania,  and  ac- 
climatized that  Polish  dance  in  the  salons  of  Paris. 
Thrones  have  tottered  and  fallen,  a  dynasty  has 
passed  into  exile,  since  the  clinking  of  the  spurs  of 
gold  and  the  clanking  of  feet  encased  in  Polish 
boots  insured  its  success  in  this  capital.  Cellarius, 
like  Lord  Byron,  awoke  one  morning  and  found 
himself  famous.  He  was  the  hero  of  a  success 
which  has  not  proved  ephemeral,  for  he  and  his 
polka  maintain  their  supremacy.  His  salles  de 
danse  in  the  Rue  Yivienne  are  always  crowded,  and 
Cellarius  is  still  the  first  master  of  the  art  invent- 
ed by  Terpsichore. 

In  the  morning,  his  classes  are  attended  by  young 
ladies  of  rank  and  high  position,  in  the  evening  by 
young  men  of  fashion,  desirous  of  acquiring  a 
graceful  manner  of  dancing,  or  perhaps  only  to 
learn  the  last-invented  figure  of  the  cotillon,  or  a 
new  step  in  the  mazurka.  For  the  first  hour  they 
practise  alone.  At  eleven,  a  flying  squadron  of 
cori/phees,  fresh  from  the  Grand  Opera,  arrives  to 
assist  them  in  their  studies.  These  impromptu 
visitors  perfect  their  aristocratic  partners  in  the 
art  of  dancing.  Cellarius  had  the  honor  of  re- 
ceiving the  following  letter  from  the  immortal  po- 
et Lamartine,  of  which  he  has  had  the  kindness  to 
favor  the  writer  with  a  copy : — 


78  DANCING   SCHOOLS. 

J'ai  ete  bien  sensible  a  renvoi  que  yous 
avez  charge  M.  Lureau  de  me  remettre.  II  y  a 
line  parente  entre  tons  les  arts,  surtout  qiiand  ils 
s'elevent  par  Tidee  aux  sentiments  da  beau  leur 
type  commun.  La  danse  est  la  poesie  des  mouve- 
ments  et  la  melodie  du  corps.  Chez  les  anciens 
elle  etait  un  hymne  en  action,  et  a  ce  titre  on  I'in- 
troduisit  jusque  dans  le  culte.  On  ne  lui  laisse  au- 
jourd'hui  que  le  thetoe  et  le  salon,  etvos  savantes 
et  gracieuses  etudes  la  rendent  plus  digne  d'y  -^.g- 
urer.  Je  n'en  juge  que  sur  votre  nom  et  sur  vos 
oeuvres,  mais  vos  vrais  juges  sont  la  jeunesse  et  la 
beaute,  pour  qui  votre  nom  est  celai  du  plaisir 
meme. 

Recevez,  Monsieur,  Tassurance  de  ma 

consideration  la  plus  distinguee, 
LAMAEXmE. 

All  great  men  have  rivals.  ITapoleon  had  his 
Wellington,  Cellarius  his  Markowski,  with  a  dif- 
ference, however.  Markowsky  has  not  beaten  his 
enemy  off  the  field,  and  Cellarius  remains  master 
of  the  situation.  Cellarius  discovered  the  polka, 
Markowski  invented  the  friska.  These  great  mas- 
ters of  the  Terpsichorean  art  divided  the  legs  of 
the  dancing  world  into  rival  camps,  as  did  the  fac- 
tion of  the  classiques  and  romantiques  of  the  literary 
world  of  Paris.  Cellarius  holds  his  evening  class- 
es and  his  fortnightly  hal  d' artistes,  admittance 
20fr.,  at  his  house  40,  Rue  Yivienne,  whilst  Mark- 
owsky gives  his  entertainments  un  peu  partoui. 
His  title  deeds  are  his  diploma  as  pupil  of  the 
Conservatoire  and  first  dancer  at  the  Grand  Opera. 
The  Revolution  of  1848  compelled  him  to  accept 
an  ofier  from  Mabille;  he  was  subsequently  ap- 
pointed director  of  the  Park  at  Enghein,  where  he 
gave  a  fete  still  remembered  in  the  annals  of  that 
delicious  summer  retreat.  He  announced  a  panto- 
mime  from   "  Robert  le   Diable."      Precisely   at 


DANCING   SCHOOLS.  79 

midniglit  a  thousand  varied  colors  flashed  on  the 
silvery  waters  of  the  lake^  produced  by  Bengal 
fires  lighted  amidst  the  woods  that  fringe  its 
shores.  In  one  of  the  scenes  was  a  young  girl 
pursued  by  goblins.  A  monk  who  flies  to  her  res- 
cue is  seized  by  the  demons  and  thrown  into  the 
lake.  Horrified  at  his  fate,  several  spectators 
plunged  into  the  water,  and  swam  out  to  where  he 
yet  floated,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  bringing 
safe  to  shore  a  figure  of  cork  and  straw,  amidst 
the  derisive  shouts  of  their  more  reflecting  breth- 
ren. The  crowd  was  so  dense  newspaper  report- 
ers percbed  in  the  trees  as  the  only  spot  where 
they  could  write  notes  of  the  brilliant  scene.  Fif- 
teen hundred  pounds  sterling  were  taken  at  the 
entrance  doors.  Mathilde  was  one  of  the  first 
who  danced  the  friska  with  a  grace  and  agility 
which  attracted  crowds  on  the  nights  when  it  was 
known  she  would  perform.  She  obtained  an  en- 
gagement at  the  Palais  Royal,  where  she  and 
Alida  danced  the  friska  together.  This  was  the 
apotheosis  of  her  fame.  Mathilde  is  now  enrolled 
amongst  the  dairies  du  lac,  and  every  afternoon  dur- 
ing the  season  she  may  be  seen  in  one  of  Binder's 
huit  ressorts,  lined  with  chocolate  satin,  and  drawn 
by  a  splendid  pair  of  bay  steppers. 

The  balls  at  Bougival,  frequented  by  artists  who 
spend  the  summer  in  that  picturesque  village,  for 
the  double  purpose  of  bathing  in  the  Seine  and 
sketching  the  adjacent  scenery,  are  the  most  char- 
acteristic of  artists'  life  which  take  place  in  the 
environs  of  the  capital.  The  feminine  frequenters 
of  the  Bougival  bals  de  nuit  are  the  actresses  most 
in  repute  at  the  theatres  of  Paris,  as  well  as  those 
members  of  the  haute  bicherie  who  have  not  emi- 
grated to  Homburg  or  Baden  for  the  season. 


PUBLIC  COE"CEETS. 


The  most  expensive  noise  is  music,  wrote  the 
prince  of  feuiUetomstes,  Theeophile  Gaiitier,  and 
certainly  when  a  person  pays  twenty-five  francs  for 
a  fauteidl  d'  orcJiestre  at  the  Grand  Opera,  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  listening  to  the  silvery  cadences 
of  Christine  Mlsson,  he  will  be  inclined  to  agree 
with  that  most  agreeable  writer.  Good  music  can, 
however,  be  had  in  Paris  at  as  moderate  an  outlay 
as  in  the  capitals  of  Germany, although  the  French, 
as  a  people,  are  not  so  dilettante  as  their  neighbors 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  and  will  not  listen 
to  a  complicated  sonato  of  Beethoven,  or  to  a  mag- 
nificent creation  of  Hadyn  for  consecutive  hours, 
as  will  the  phlegmatic  German.  Music,  to  please 
a  French  audience,  must,  like  their  champagne,  be 
light  and  sparkling.  Thence  the  tremendous  suc- 
cess of  Offenbach's  operas,  which  amuse  and  en- 
liven, but  neither  elevate  the  mind  nor  purify  the 
imagination. 

In  1828,  Cherubin  Ilabeneck  founded  the  So- 
ciete  des  Concerts.  Government  subscribed  eighty 
pounds  a  year  and  authorized  the  society  to  hold 
its  meetings  in  the  Salle  du  Conservatoire.  The 
first  concert  was  given  on  the  9th  of  March,  1828, 
Habeneck  himself  leading  the  orchestra.  The  pro- 
gramme included  the  finest  compositions  of  Beeth- 
oven. Thus  with  splendid  success  were  inaugura- 
ted the 


PUBLIC   CONCERTS.  81 

CONCERTS  DU  CONSERVATOIRE, 

Perhaps  the  finest  in  Europe,  as  well  as  the  most 
difiicnlt  of  access.  To  secure  a  subscription  for 
the  season,  application  must  be  made  to  the  com- 
mittee before  the  20th  of  October.  These  con- 
certs— of  which  there  are  seven — are  given  on  al- 
ternate Sundays  during  the  first  three  months  of 
the  year.  The  possession  of  a  box  is  so  highly 
prized  by  musical  amateurs,  that  in  several  instan- 
ces they  have  become  hereditary  in  families. 
Seats  in  the  balcon  and  in  the  front  boxes  are  nine 
francs  each,  stalls  and  lower  boxes  six  francs  per 
seat.  Admittance  to  the  jparquet  can  be  had  for 
three  francs,  and  to  the  higher  boxes  for  two 
francs.  This  year  an  extra  series  of  concerts  was 
given,  to  which  admittance  was  more  easily  se- 
cured, than  to  the  annual  season  concerts.  The 
prices  for  seats  were,  however,  the  same  as  above 
mentioned.  The  veteran  Auber,^  author  of  so 
many  beautiful  operas,  of  which  "Le  premier  jour 
de  bonheur"  is  the  last,  presides  at  these  musical 
festivals,  to  be  present  at  which  princes  cringe 
and  duchesses  intrigue.  One  day  a  friend  of  the 
writer  stopped  him  in  the  street :  "  Congratulate 
me,"  he  exclaimed.  Why!  had  he  been  sent  for 
to  form  a  new  ministry,  or  had  he  inherited  a  for- 
tune ?  E"o,  but  he  had  been  admitted  during  the 
last  Concert  du  Conservatoire  to  the  umbrella  de- 
posit, from  which  locality,  if  he  had  not  been  able 
to  see  the  performers,  he  had  at  least  heard  every 
note  of  the  music  ! 


CONCERT  DES  CHAMPS-ELYSl^ES, 

Formerly  Concert  Musard.  This  delightful  place 
of  rendezvous  is  on  the  left  side  of  the  Avenue,  be- 
yond the  Palais  d'lndustrie  and  close  to  the  cele- 
brated restaurant  Moulin  Kouge,  one  of  the  most 
recherclii  of  the  many  fashionable  establishments, 


82  PUBLIC    CONCERTS. 

where  first-rate  dinners  are  served  in  a  style  only 
equalled  at  the  Maison  Doree  or  the  Cafe  An- 
glais. Whilst  lounging  on  one  of  the  open  terra- 
ces, the  visitor  can  enjoy  the  delightful  strains  of 
Besselievre's  unrivalled  band,  which  performs  the 
most  exquisite  operas  and  waltzes*''every  evening, 
from  eight  until  eleven.  This  is  the  only  open 
air  concert  patronized  by  ladies  of  fashion,  inas- 
much as  it  is  the  only  one  from  which  the  demi- 
monde is  rigorously  excluded. 

For  one  franc,  a  stranger  will  not  only  hear  the 
best  orchestral  music,  bat  likewise  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  for  himself  of  the  upper  ten 
thousand  of  Paris  society.  Ambassadresses,  duch- 
esses, wives  of  ministers,  together  with  all  the  no- 
tabilities of  the  great  world,  may  be  seen  enjoying 
the  cool  air  of  a  summer's  night,  grouped  in  par- 
ties or  promenading  around  the  central  walk. 
The  orchestra  occupies  a  raised  platform  surround- 
ed by  pillars  which  support  a  dome-shaped  roof. 
This  central  building  is  gracefully  festooned  by 
chains  of  light  proceeding  from  countless  pearly 
globes  of  ground  glass.  Several  rows  of  the  paint- 
ed iron  chairs,  so  familiar  to  the  Parisians,  sur- 
round this  musical  temple.  Beyond  this  circular 
space  are  the  brilliantly  lighted  gardens,  which, 
seen  in  the  contrasted  light  of  soft  moonbeams  and 
of  glowing  jets  of  gas,  present  a  most  enchanting 
aspect.  M.  Cressonois,  late  band-master  to  the 
regiment  of  Guides,  leads  the  orchestra. 

From  the  concerts,  above  described,  to  the  Cafe 
Chantants  the  transition  is  sudden.  At  the  for- 
mer, the  great  world,  musical  amateurs,  and  the 
respectable  middle  classes  congregate  ;  at  the  Cafe 
Chantants  no  female  member  of  any  of  the  three 
classes  mentioned  above,  would  willingly  be  recog- 
nized. 

English  and  Americans  who  visit  Paris  commit 
a  fatal  error  when  they  allow  a  morbid  feeling  of 


CAFE    CHANTANTS.  83 

curiosity  to  overcome  their  better  judgment,  and 
allow  their  wives  and  daughters  to  visit  either  a 
public  ball  or  a  Cafe  Chantant.  They  will  never 
meet  a  French  lady  of  rank  and  respectable  posi- 
tion in  society  at  these  places.  The  appearance  of 
our  young  and  carefully  trained  country-women, 
therefore,  subjects  them  to  comments,  which  it 
would  be  absurd  for  their  companions  to  resent, 
inasmuch  as  the  said  localities  are  intended  for  the 
entertainment  of  a  class  of  women  our  wives  and 
sisters  would  shrink  from  mingling  with  in  their 
native  land  ;  why,  therefore,  should  they  do  so  in  a 
foreign  capital  ? 


CAFE    chakta:n^ts. 


THE  ALCAZAR. 

There  are  two  Alcazars.  In  winter  that  popular 
concert  room  is  to  be  found  10  Rue  de  Faubourg 
Poissoniere,  whereas  in  summer  its  open-air  con- 
certs are  given  in  the  brilliantly  illuminated  Cafe 
Chantant  of  the  Champs-Elysees,  easily  recogniza- 
ble in  consequence  of  the  gas-formed  letters  sus- 
pended over  its  portal,  which  is  itself  a  perfect 
constellation  of  variegated  lamps.  The  winter 
salle  in  every  respect  resembles  a  theatre,  being 
arranged  with  boxes  in  tiers,  possessing  a  spacious 
stage  adapted  to  scenic  performances,  and  also  to 
the  accommodation  of  a  large  and  efficient  orches- 
tra. In  the  central  hall  are  tables  and  seats,  for 
those  who,  while  they  enjoy  the  music,  are  expected 
to  consomme — that  is  to  imbibe  as  much  beer  or 
other  drinks,  and  smoke  as  many  Medianitos  or 
Londres,  charged  at  as  high  a  price  as  will  recom- 
pense the  proprietor  for  the  expense  of  the  enter- 
tainment, the  entrance  being  free. 

The  Alcazar  owes  its  immense  popularity  to 
Theresa  (Yalladou),  not  inaptly  christened  Patti  de 


84  CAFE    CHANTANTS. 

la  cJiop.  A  few  years  ago  this  celebrated  song- 
stress startled  the  blase  Parisian  by  a  style  of  per- 
formance till  then  unknown,  and  which  created  a 
perfect  furore.  As  long  as  her  popularity  lasted, 
Theresa  eclisped  Mesdames  Carvalho,  Marie  Cabel, 
and  even  the  inimitable  diva  herself,  by  the  im- 
mense audiences  she  nightly  drew  from  the  Grand 
Opera,  and  from  the  Italiens,  to  the  Alcazar. 

The  success  of  this  Parisian  lionne  was  caused, 
as  much  by  the  coarse  gestures,  the  sensual  leers, 
the  voluptuous  attitudes  which  accompanied  her 
performance  of  "  La  Femme  k  Barbe,"  or  ^'  Rien 
n'est  sacre  pour  un  Sapeur,"  as  the  powerful  voice, 
which  emanated  from  her  magnificent  chest.  In 
IsTovember,  1866,  Theresa  signed  her  engagement 
to  sing  at  the  Alcazar  for  the  ensuing  three  years, 
at  the  rate  of  £12.  (300  fr.)  per  night;  thus  her 
annual  income,  derived  from  this  source  alone, 
amounted  to  £  3,390. 

Naturally  all  true  interpreters  of  art  felt  this 
sucees  de  scandale  a  bitter  insult  to  them.  However 
lovers  of  classical  music  might  rail,  and  moralists 
preach,  Theresa's  success,  especially  during  the 
Universal  Exhibition,  was  unparalleled,  and  in 
spite  of  her  detractors  she  continued  to  enrapture 
the  gandins  of  the  male  portion  of  the  visitors  to 
Paris  during  that  crowded  season.  Houyot  and 
Yillebichot  composed  songs  expressly  for  her.  A 
celebrated  Ambassadress  summoned  Theresa  to 
her  private  salon,  in  order  that  she  might  acquire 
her  peculiar  tone.  Majesty  itself,  it  was  whispered, 
attended  a  party  given  by  an  ofiicial,  to  witness 
and  Usten  to  her  performances 

Her  reputation  spread  over  France.  The  prov- 
inces claimed  her,  and  for  one  week  she  consented 
to  visit  Marseilles.  A  carriage  and  four  awaited 
the  popular  songstress  at  the  railway  terminus,  an 
elegant  suite  of  apartments  was  placed  at  her  dis- 
posal, and  £  100  a  night  secured  to  her  during  the 


CAFE   CHANTANTS.  85 

seven  nights  on  which  she  deigned  to  enchant  the 
Marseillais  by  her  performance.  But  Theresa  was 
mortal.  The  terrible  exertion  her  peculiar  style 
of  singing  required,  impaired  her  voice,  and  ex- 
hausted even  her  powers  of  vocalization.  Theresa 
was  ordered  by  physicians  to  Heors  where  the 
mildness  of  the  climate  effectually  restored  her  to 
health.  Her  place  was  filled  by  Susanne  Lagier, 
whose  style  is  in  imitation  of  that  of  Theresa.  She 
lacks,  however,  the  chic  canaille  which  so  pre- 
eminently distinguished  her  predecessor. 

During  the  summer  season  the  Alcazar  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  verdant  groves  of  the  Champs-Elysees. 
From  eight  to  twelve,  the  visitor  is  admitted  gratis, 
but  with  the  tacit  understanding  that  he  will  con- 
sonune,  failing  which,  a  white-aproned  gargon  will 
remind  him  of  the  duty  he  is  expected  to  perform. 
A  glass  of  beer  cannot  be  had  for  less  than  a  franc, 
and  on  Sundays  or  fete  nights  the  price  for  the 
slightest  refreshment  is  raised  in  proportion  to  the 
splendor  of  the  entertainment. 


ELDORADO. 

Kg.  4,  Boulevard  de  Strasbourg,  established  on 
the  same  principle  as  the  Alcazar,  with  galleries, 
orchestra,  and  stage;  also  large  refreshment  saloon. 
Entrance  free  ;  therefore  the  visitor  is  expected  to 
consomme.  Operettes  in  one  act  are  often  per- 
formed on  its  mimic  stage. 


THE  CAFi:  MOREL  AND  THE  CAFJ&  DES 
AMBASSADEURS 

Are  situated  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  surrounded  by 
elegant  gardens,  which  at  night  are  brilliantly  illu- 
minated and  fitted  up  with  small  tables,  at  which 
the  visitor  is  expected  to  consomynee  in  return  for 


86  CAFE    CHANTANTS. 

the  musical  performaDces,  which,  as  at  the  Alcazar 
and  Eldorado,  are  gratis.  The  performers  are  seated 
on  a  raised  dais,  over  which  draperies,  tastefully 
decorated  with  flowers,  are  suspended  to  protect 
them  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  The 
singing  at  these  Cafes  Chantants  is  usually  very 
good.  They  are  well  worth  a  visit,  inasmuch  as 
this  phase  of  Pasisian  out-door  life  is  singular  and 
characteristic  of  the  capital.  Cocottes,  cocodes^  and 
strangers  visiting  Paris,  are  the  chief  elements 
composing  the  audience. 


BA-TA-CLAN, 

Boulevard  du  Prince  Eugene.  The  Alcazar  is 
Moorish,  Ba-ta-Clan  is  Chinese,  The  exterior  of  , 
the  building  is  carved,  painted,  and  gilded,  after 
the  manner  in  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  Celes- 
tial Empire  decorate  their  pagodas.  A  Chinese 
giant,  Chang  by  name,  was  the  attraction  during 
one  season.  Cigars  are  smoked,  and  refreshments 
consomme  as  at  all  Cafes  Chantants.  The  musical 
performance,  although  not  remarkable  in  quality, 
evidently  satisfies  its  numerous  frequenters. 


caf:&  beuglant, 

Rue  Contrescarpe  Dauphine.  Irreverently  so 
named  by  the  students  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  in  the 
vicinity  of  which  it  is  situated.  The  company,  as 
usual,  is  composed  of  a  tenor,  a  barytone,  a  contral- 
to, comic  singers,  &c.  The  repertoire  consists  of 
the  popular  songs  of  the  season,  but  the  audience, 
chiefly  composed  of  the  laughter-loving  students  of 
the  Ecole  de  Medecine,  constantly  interpose,  and 
join  in  the  chorusses,  and  otherwise  interrupt  the 
order  of  the  proceedings.  The  visitor,  who  wishes 
to  form  an  idea  of  student's  life  in  Paris,  will  do 


THEATRES.  87 

well  to  spend  an  evening  at  the  Cafe  Concert  of 
the  Contrescarpe  Dauphine,  or  at  that  of  the — 


CONCERT  GlfiANT, 

Boulevard  du  Temple,  where  smoking,  drinking, 
and  singing  are  carried  on  simultaneously,  to  the 
extreme  delight  of  a  somewhat  promiscuous  audi- 
ence. 

Having,  as  in  the  chapter  on  Public  Balls,  given 
details  of  the  different  classes  of  public  concerts  of 
Paris,  the  subjoined  list  will  suffice  to  inform  the 
reader  of  the  other  localities  where  this  species  of 
evening  amusement  is  offered  to  the  public  : — 

Casino  de  Paris 12,  Rue  de  Lyon. 

Cafe  Fraiimont Rue  des  Trois  Couronnes. 

Cafe  Richefeu Boulevard  Monceau. 

Elysee  Menilmontant  .     .     .     Belleville. 
Cafe  Concert  des  families    .    64,  Faubourg  St.  Martin. 
(fee.  &c.  &c. 


THEATEES. 


THEATRE  ITALIElSr. 
(place  ventadouk), 

Of  which  la  Patti  was  formerly  the  reigning  divin- 
ity. So  great  was  her  influence  on  the  pubhc,  that, 
on  nights  when  she  sung,  stalls  and  seats  in  the  first 
tier  of  boxes,  for  which  the  regular  prices  are 
eighteen  francs  per  seat,  ran  up  to  twenty-five 
francs,  and  even  at  this  price  they  were  difficult  to 
be  had. 

The  American  star,  Miss  Harris,  made  her  ap- 


88  THEATRES. 

pearance  during  the  seasons  of  1867-68,  succeeded 
by  Minnie  Hauck  in  1869,  (a  pupil  of  Strakosch, 
la  Patti's  brother-in-law),  sent  across  the  Atlantic 
to  charm  the  blase  Parisian,  whilst  the  Hungarian 
Irma  de  Murska  occasionally  fascinated  and  startled 
the  audience  by  her  marvellous  ut,  as  well  as  by 
her  delicious  eccentricities.  Mcolini's  splendid 
tenor  voice,  graceful  acting,  and  singular  good 
looks,  made  him  the  favorite  of  the  public  for  many 
seasons. 

The  ripertoire  includes  all  the  greatest  produc- 
tions of  Verdi,  Donizetti,  Bellini,  and  the  more  re- 
cent compositions  of  Flotow,  "  Don  Pasquale,"  "  II 
Crispino  e  il  Comare,"  ''Lucia  di  Lammermoor," 
''  Linda  di  Chamounix"  ''La  Traviata,"  "  La  Son- 
nambula,"  "II  Barbiere  di  Siviglia,''  are  the  operas 
in  which  la  Patti  was  most  often  to  be  heard  ;  while 
Krauss  prefers  such  tragic  scenes  as  are  delineated 
in  '-Lucrezia  Borgia,"  "  Semiramide,"  &c..  Ross- 
ini's posthumous  work,  the  "  Messe  Solennelle," 
(on  which  occasion  Alboni  consented  to  re-appear 
in  public),  was  splendidly  reproduced  after  the 
death  of  the  illustrious  maestro,  by  the  whole  com- 
pany on  ten  nights  during  1869.  Saturday  is  al- 
ways the  most  crowded  evening  at  the  Italiens. 

The  interior  of  the  theatre  contains  four  tiers  of 
boxes;  the  balconies  and  orchestra  are  divided 
into  ranges  of  stalls,  each  forming  an  armchair. 
The  ceiling,  painted  by  Ferri,  represents  a  valari- 
um,  through  which  blue  sky  appears.  In  the  en- 
trance is  a  tine  statue  of  Gretry  by  Houdon.  The 
theatre  accommodates  thirteen  hundred  persons, 
and  receives  an  annual  subvention  of  £3,000  from 
Government. 

The  regular  performances  take  place  Tuesdaj^s, 
Thursdays,  and  Saturdays.  There  are,  however, 
occasional  extra  nights  on  Sundays  and  Mondays. 
The  season,  which  commences  October  1st,  usually 
closes  April  30th. 


THEATRES.  89 

OP]fiRA  COMIQUE 
(boulevard  des  it  aliens.) 

The  repertoire  of  this  elegant  theatre  inchides  the 
light  and  sparkling  compositions  of  Herold,  Adam, 
Gretry,  Boieldieu,  and  last,  but  not  least,  of  the 
octagenarian  Auber.  This  style  of  music  being 
peculiarly  adapted  to  the  taste  of  the  Parisians,  the 
salle  of  the  Opera  Comique  is  always  crowded  to 
excess  The  most  favorite  operas  are  Auber's 
"  Muette  di  Portici,"  ''  le  Domino  l^oir,"  "  le  Pre- 
mier Jour  de  Bonheur,"  "  les  Diamants  de  la  Cou- 
ronne;"  Harold's  "  Zampa,"  his  "''  Pre-aux-Clercs;" 
Victor  Masse's  "  Galatea"  and  "  La  Fiancee  du  Dia- 
ble  ;"  Ambroise  Thomas'  "  le  Carnaval  de  Yenise," 
and  such  minor  operettas  as  "  le  Chalet,"  by  Adam, 
and  "  la  Dame  Blanche,"  by  Boieldieu.  The  di- 
rector, spares  neither  pains  nor  gold  in  his  efforts 
to  secure  the  services  of  admirable  artists.  Capoul, 
formerly  the  Apollo  of  the  troup  and  the  admired 
of  the  ladies,  was  a  prize  worth  the  high  price  he 
set  on  his  cliarming  voice — as  well  as  on  his  per- 
sonal attractions.  Mme.  Cabel,  who  made  her 
debut  in  Auber's  '^  Man  on  Lescaut,"  was  as  popu- 
lar among  the  male  portion  of  the  audience  as  Ca- 
poul amongst  their  fair  companions. 

The  hoQse  accommodates  eighteen  hundred 
spectators.  To  every  second  box  is  attached  a 
small  salon  ;  a  bell  from  each  enables  the  company 
to  call  for  ices  and  refreshments  without  leaving 
the  box.  The  decorations  are  in  white  and  gold. 
On  the  ceiling  are  medallion  portraits  of  Boieldieu, 
Gretry,  &c.,  their  busts  likewise  adorn  the  spa- 
cious fo7jer  of  Corinthian  architecture,  furnished 
with  divans,  which  is  on  the  first  floor,  behind  the 
boxes.  Government  subscribes  £10,000  annually 
towards  the  expenses  of  this  theatre.  In  the  cel- 
lars is  a  ventilating  apparatus  for  a  supply  of  fresh 
air,  cooled  by  means  of  ice;  the  vitiated  atmos- 
phere finding  egress  through  the  ceiling. 


90  THEATRES. 

LES  BOUFFES  PARISIENS. 
(passage  choiseul), 
A  brilliant  incarnation  of  Cafe-Concerfs  and  of 
music  essentially  Parisian,  of  which  Offenbach's 
operettas  may  be  said  to  be  the  true  expression. 
The  Bouffes  is  the  Palais-Royal  Theatre  in  music. 
Inaugurated  in  1855  by  "La  ]N"uit  blanche,"  "  Les 
Deux  Aveugles,"  and  "Arlequin  Barbier,"  by 
Offenbach,  in  one  of  the  Cafe-Concerts  of  the 
Champs-Elysees,  the  Bouffes  became  so  popular 
that  the  Theatre  Cornte,  Passage  Choiseul,  was  re- 
gilt,  redecorated  and  generally  embellished  for  its 
future  domicile.'  On  this  mimic  stage  have  suc- 
cessively^ been  produced  Offenbach's  "Reved'une 
Kuit  d'Ete,"  his  "  Tepito,  Postilion  en  rage," 
'^Trombal  Kazar,"  "Horrible  Festin,''  "  Cliatte 
metamorphosee  en  Femme, "  and,  in  1860,  his 
"Orphee  and  Enfers,"  which  had  a  run  of  227  consec- 
utive nights,  producing  a  net  profit  during  the  first 
season  of  62,603  fr.  In  this  Buftb  Opera  the  cele- 
brated Cora  Pearl  made  her  first  and  last  appear- 
ance on  the  stage  as  Venus;  she  was,  however, 
hissed  off  the  boards.  Leoce,  Mesdames  Jan  tin, 
Marechal,  Tostee,  Cico  were  amongst  the  favorites 
of  the  troupe,  which  is  celebrated  for  the  beauty 
and  amiable  qualities  of  its  fair  members,  as  well 
as  for  the  broad  humor  and  admirable  comic  acting 
of  its  male  artists.  The  repertoire  of  the  Boufies  is 
by  no  means  confined  to  Offenbach's  pieces,  the 
works  of  no  less  than  fifty-nine  authors  having 
been  represented  on  the  stage  of  this  coquet  little 
theatre  since  it  was  first  started  in  1855,  and 
amongst  the  composers  whose  operas  appeared  at 
the  Bouffes  are  Adolphe  Adam  ;  "  L'Impressario," 
by  Mozart,  first  performed  in  1788,  in  presence  of 
the  Emperor  Joseph  II.,  at  Schoenbrunn ;  the 
"  Orgue  de  Barbaric,"  by  the  great  violinist, 
Alary,  &c.  The  Bouffes-Parisiens  accommodates 
1,200  persons. 


THEATRES.  91 

COMI^DIE  FRANgAISE. 

The  most  important  theatre  in  Paris.  Here 
may  be  seen,  represented  by  the  first  actors  in  the 
world,  the  classic  productions  of  Racine,  Corneille, 
and  the  inimitable  Moliere,  as  well  as  the  choicest 
specimens  of  modern  French  dramas.  The  most 
gifted  actresses  and  actors  maintain  the  reputation 
of  this  ancient  theatre — Bressant,  Leroux,  Got, 
Coquelin,  Regnier,  Lafontaine,  Madeleine,  Augus- 
tine, Brahan,  Mme.  Arnold  Flessy,  &c. 

A  magnificent  statue  of  Voltaire,  due  to  the  chis- 
el of  Houdon,  flanked  by  two  others  of  Tragedy 
and  Comedy,  occupy  the  centre  of  the  vestibule, 
the  ceiling  of  which  rests  on  a  double  row  of  Doric 
columns.  Busts  of  distinguished  dramatists  deco- 
rate the  foj/er,  among  which  is  one  of  the  great  tra- 
gedienne Mile.  Mars;  the  portrait  of  her  successor, 
the  immortal  Rachel,  painted  by  Gerome,  is  hung 
in  this  apartment. 

The  performances  at  this  theatre,  which  is  the 
standard  for  the  whole  of  France,  used  to  be  lim- 
ited to  the  highest  style  of  tragedy  and  regular 
comedy.  This  rule  has,  however,  been  relaxed  by 
the  admission  of  the  productions  of  the  illustrious 
Victor  Hugo,  the  prolific  Dumas,  the  gifted  Georg- 
es kSand  &c.,  which,  with  all  their  merits,  do  not, 
however,  attain  the  elevation  of  style  deemed  a 
necessary  attribute  of  the  highest  order  of  France. 


od:&on. 

A  second  Theatre  Fran9ais,  as  instructive  to  the 
serious  student  of  French  literature  as  the  preced- 
ing, and  quite  as  interesting  to  the  mere  passer-by, 
who  simply  seeks  the  amusement  of  the  hour.  On 
first  representations,  the  Odeon  is  usually  thronged 
by  students  from  the  adjoining  Quartier  Latin,  who, 
if  the  new  piece  contains  the  slightest  political  al- 
lusion, make  a  frightful    noise,  and  usually  seize 


92  THEATRES. 

the  opportanitj  of  getting  up  a  row.  In  1787  the 
"  Mariage  de  Figaro "  was  first  acted  on  this 
stage.  Among  the  authors  whose  works  have  been 
represented  at  the  Odeon  are  Casimir  Delavigne, 
^fimile  Augier,  Balzac,  Georges  Sand,  and  Victor 
Hugo.  "La  Marquise  de  Villemer  Francois  le 
Champi,"  from  the  pen  of  that  charming  writer, 
Georges  Sand  ;  "  La  Conspiration  d'Amboise,"  by 
the  late  L.  Bouilher,  have  been  among  its  latest 
pieces.     Seats  for  1,700  persons. 


VAUDEVILLE. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines 
and  the  Rue  de  la  Chaussee-d'  Antin.  By  a  sin- 
gular coincidence,  this  theatre  and  the  style  of 
pieces  which  its  name  specially  designates  sprang 
into  existence  at  the  time  of  the  French  Republic, 
and  may  be  said  to  have  embodied  in  its  peculiar 
type  the  new  ideas  which  at  that  period  hrst  spread 
over  Europe.  During  the  last  fifteen  years  the 
works  of  Alexander  Dumas ^^5,  Theodore  Barrere, 
Octave  Feuillet,  Georges  Sand,  Mario  Uchard, 
and  Victorian  Sardou  have  successively  appeared 
on  its  stage.  The  repertoire  during  the  years  1867- 
68-69  has  included  "  Memoires  du  Diable,"  "  Fil- 
les  de  Marbre,"  "  Famille  Benoiton, "  &c.  M. 
Ilarmant's  troupe  includes  the  gifted  and  ever 
fascinating  Mme.  Doche;  Miles.  Lively,  Berton, 
and  Hebert ;  MM.  Delannoy,  Lacressoniere,  &c. 
The  new  house  accommodates  1,300  persons. 


LE  GYMNASE. 

Built  in  1820  on  the  Boulevard  Bonne-I^ouvelle. 
Scribe,  the  king  of  vaudevillists,  acquired  his  first 
celebrity  as  a  writer  on  the  boards  of  the  Gymnase, 
which  theatre  owes  its  immense  popularity  mainly 
to    the    productions    of    his   inexhaustible    talent. 


THEATRES.  93 

Scribe  wrote  several  of  bis  best  pieces  specially  for 
tbe  Gymnase.  Tiie  Vaudeville  and  tbe  Gymnase 
may  be  said  to  divide  witb  tbe  Tbeatre-Fra!i9ai8 
tbe  boiior  of  reproducing  tbe  finest  works  of  mod- 
ern French  comedy,  but  it  must  be  admitted  tbat 
of  tbis  privilege  tbe  two  lesser  tbeatres  bave  tbe 
lion's  sbare.  M.  Prudbomme  gave  tbe  Gymnase 
tbe  sobriquet  of  bonhonniere.  Tbe  fair  celebrated 
Blancbe  Pierson,  witb  Miles.  Samary  and  Georgi- 
na,  Mmes.  Ramelli  and  Massin,  tbe  inimitable  Ra- 
oul,  witb  Pradeau,  Lesteur,  Lafont,  and  otber  of  tbe 
popular  chanson  defortunio,  form  part  of  its  compa- 
ny. "  Serapbine,"  by  Sardou,  was  tbe  success  of 
1869.     Tbe  Gymnase  accommodates  1,200  persons. 


LA  PORTE-ST-MARTIN. 

One  of  tbe  best  tbeatres  in  tbe  capital,  always 
crowded  to  excess.  Tbe  mise-en-scene  is  magnifi- 
cent, tbe  company  invariably  consists  of  tbe  best 
dramatic  actors  in  tbe  capital,  and  tbe  ballet  is  ad- 
mirable. Fairy  pieces,  sucb  as  "  La  Bicbe  au 
Bois"  and  "Pied  de  Mouton,"  are  got  up  at  tbis 
tbeatre  on  a  scale  of  splendor  unrivalled  in  any  cap- 
ital of  Europe.  Tbis  Tbeatre  was  burned  during 
tbe  Commune,  but  bas  been  rebuilt  since,  and  it 
now  accommodates  1,800  persons. 


TH:eATRE  DE  LA  RENAISSANCE. 

Tbis  Tbeatre  is  situated  on  tbe  Boulevard  a  few 
doors  from  tbe  Tbeatre  de  la  Porte  St.  Martin.  It 
is  a  very  bandsome  structure  erected  since  tbe 
Commune,  consequently  is  tbe  newest  tbeatre  in 
Paris,  and  is  devoted  to  Comedy. 


LE  PALAIS-ROYAL. 

Tbe  Palais-Royal  and  tbe  Bouffes-Parisiens  bave 
tbe  same  character ;  both  are  perfect  bonbonniereSy 


94  THEATRES. 

SO  diminutive  are  their  dimensions  when  compared 
to  the  spacious  Grand  Opera  or  Chatelet,  and  so 
exquisite  in  the  tasteful  elegance  of  their  decora- 
tions. The  amount  of  bo.is-mots,  puns,  and  jokes 
uttered  by  the  laughter-loving  Brasseur,  Gil-Pe- 
rez, Hyacinthe,  and  Lassouche,  assisted  by  the 
dark-eyed  Celine  Montalant,  the  siren  Zulnia 
Bouftar,  whose  madrigals  alone  would  suffice  to 
set  a  whole  house  in  a  roar  of  laughter — Mmes. 
Taurelle,  Alphonsine,  Black,  &c. — could  not  be 
enumerated.  "  Le  Piege  a  Femmes,"  "  Deux  Chi- 
ens  de  Faience,"  &c.,  are  the  types  of  the  humoris- 
tical  pieces  acted  on  this  popular  stage,  frequented 
especially  by  the  male  visitors  to  the  members  of 
the  Jockey  Club,  &c.,  and  the  handsomest  cocottes  in 
the  capital.  The  Palais-Koyal  Theatre  accommo- 
dates 1,000  persons. 


THEATRE  DU  CHATELET. 

The  best  appointed  theatre  in  Paris.  Admirably 
directed  by  k.  E'eston  Eoqueplan.  Built  in  1862, 
with  all  the  latest  improvements  in  lighting  and 
ventilating,  its  stage  is  of  extraordinary  depth,  in 
order  to  admit  of  military  evolutions,  triumphal 
arches,  processions,  &c.,  upon  a  scale  of  extraordi- 
nary magnificence.  This  theatre  is  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  most  enjoyable  in  the  capital.  Battal- 
ions of  young  girls,  selected  on  account  of  their 
personal  attractions,  manoeuvre  before  the  public, 
in  the  lightest  of  costumes,  during  the  three  or 
four  hours  that  such  pieces  as  "  Gendrillon " 
(''  Cinderella,")  "  Le  Diable  Boiteux,"  &c.,  occupy. 
The  scenery  and  decorations  are  splendid.  Ray- 
nard  and  Mile.  Esclozas  typify  the  broad  comedy 
and  personal  beauty  which  combine  to  attract  the 
public  to  the  Chatelet.  M.  Roqueplan  sends  to 
Vienna,  Milan,  and  London  for  his  danscuses ;  Pai-is 
not  supplying  a  sufficient  number.    Amongst  them 


THEATRES.  95 

are  Miles.  Dacket,  Clary,  Antonla,  Julia,  Diege,  &c. 
Lesueur  performs  the  part  of  ^^Roi  Courte  Botte," 
and  Madame  Hey  man  that  of  "  Princess  Zibeline," 
Marian  being  the  "  Snow  fairy."  "  Pilules  du 
Diable "  was  here  performed  3,000  times.  "  La 
Poudre  de  Perlinpinpin,"  the  last  Success  at  this 
theatre,  contains  three  ballets,  and  no  less  than 
eighty  danseuses  appear  on  the  stage  during  the 
piece  entitled  "  Les  Amours."  The  Chatelet  ac- 
commodates 3,500  persons. 


GAIT^. 

Built  by  the  City  of  Paris  in  1867,  on  the  square 
of  the  Arts  et  Metiers.  On  this  stage  the  late  cel- 
ebrated Ada  Isaacs  Menken,  veiled  in  the  most 
transparent  of  draperies  and  fastened  to  a  wild 
horse,  acted  the  part  of  "  Mazeppa  "  in  the  seventh 
tableau  of  '^  Les  Pirates  de  la  Savanne,"  thereby 
creating  a  tremendous  applause.  For  the  produc- 
tion of  "La  Chatte  Blanche"  $80,000  were  ex- 
pended on  twenty-six  new  stage  scenes,  fifteen 
hundred  costumes,  and  the  necessary  expenses  of 
the  grand  ballets.  "  La  Chatte  Blanche "  was 
performed  for  the  first  time  on  August  10  th,  1870. 
This  theatre  accommodates  1,800  persons.  The 
latest  productions  have  been  "  Orphee  aux  Enfers," 
and  "  La  roi  Carotte." 


LES  VARi:6T]&S. 

On  its  stage  are  paraded  the  predominant  vices 
and  follies  of  the  day.  Amongst  the  subjects  that 
have  succsssfuUy  come  beneath  its  lash  have  been 
English  visitors  to  Paris,  who,  to  do  them  justice, 
rarely  lose  an  opportunity  by  their  eccentric  dress 
and  demeanor,  of  rendering  themselves  ridiculous; 
calicots  or  shop-boys,  who,  with  the  bare  means  of 
existence,  ape  the  habits  and  customs  of  wealthy 


96  THEATRES. 

men  of  fashion ;  the  "  Robert  Maccaire "  of  the 
day,  &c.  Mile.  Schneider  in  "La  Belle  Helene," 
and  subsequently  in  "•  La  Grande  Duchesse  de 
Gerolstein,"  attracted  half  of  Europe  within  the 
gay  and  brilliant  precincts  of  the  popular  Yarietes. 
In  the  absence  of  that  Deesse  de  la  Ramije,  whose 
style  of  acting  and  singing  may  be  compared  to  that 
of  Theresa,  of  Cafe-concert  celebrity,  and  who,  like 
her,  has  had  the  honor  of  forming  a  new  school  of 
histrionic  art ;  such  pieces  as  "  Mam  Macalou,"  the 
"  Affaire  de  la  Rue  Quincampoix,"  are  acted  and 
sung  by  the  laughter-loving  Alphonsine,  picked  up 
by  an  orange-seller  in  the  streets,  and  now  the 
possessor  of  a  charming  residence  at  Joinville-le- 
Pont,  where  she  rows  and  fishes  as  successfully  as 
Suzanne  Lagier  and  Silly,  whose  carriages,  cache- 
meres,  and  diamonds  excite  the  envy  of  many  a 
grande  dame  and  by  Mesdames  OUivier,  Julia,  H. 
M.  M.  Guy  on,  Copp,  Bloudelet,  &c.  The  house 
accommodates  1,240  persons. 


L'AMBIGU-COMIQUE. 

One  of  the  most  ancient  theatres  of  the  capital, 
founded  a  century  ago  by  Audinon,  who  had  start- 
ed a  marionette  show  in  1759  at  the  fair  of  St.  Ger- 
main. He  obtained  a  license  from  Sartius,  lieuten- 
ant of  police,  to  build  a  theatre  on  the  Boulevard 
du  Temple,  which  was  burnt  in  1827.  The  pres- 
ent theatre,  erected  on  its  site  by  Littorf  and  Le- 
comte,  was  inaugurated  in  1828,  in  presence  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Berri.  The  illustrious  actors  Michot, 
Daines,  Frederic  Lemaitre,  and  Boccage;  Mesdames 
Dorval,  and  Melingue,  have  successively  performed 
on  its  stage.  "  Le  Sonneur  de  St.  Paul,"  "  Lazare 
le  Patriote,"  and  "  Gaspard  le  Pecheur"  formed 
part  of  its  repertoire,  M.  Taille,  its  nominal  di- 
rector, is  in  fact  subordinate  to  M.  Dumaine,  the 
gifted  actor.      Under  their    auspices  "  Richelieu 


THEATRES.  97 

k  Fontainebleau,"  a  drama  in  five  acts  and  seven 
tableaux,  has  been  admirabl}^  got  up.  The  troupe — 
Nuluall,  A.  Just,  Omer,  Regnier,  Tony  Rioni; 
Mesdames  Blainville,  Deca- Petit,  Yarn ey,  &c.  This 
theatre  is  always  crowded,  although  it  accommo- 
dates 1,900  persons. 


LES  FOLIES-DRAMATIQUES. 

Situated  on  the  Boulevard  St.  Martin,  behind 
the  Chateau  d'Eau.  It  was  here  that  '*  Robert 
Macaire,"  one  of  the  best  pieces  of  the  French  re- 
pertoire,  was  first  performed.  Frederic  Lemaitre, 
who  performed  the  principal  7^6le,  and  may  be  said 
to  have  created  the  immense  success  of  that  drama. 
Popular  farces  and  low  comedies  are  acted  on  this 
stage,  the  character  of  which  is  broad  and  risky 
humor.  The  great  successes  at  this  house  have 
been  "Le  Petit  Faust,"  of  which  the  four  tableaux. 
Dr.  Faust's  School,  the  Closerie  of  Forget-me-not, 
Faust  and  Marguerite,  and  Val-Purgis  Night,  were 
the  chief  attractions,  "  L'oeil  Creve"  "  Chilperic," 
"  Le  Canard  a  trois  bees,"  "La  fille  de  Mme. 
Angot."  The  troupe  is  composed  of  the  first 
school  of  actors  as  well  as  actresses,  selected  by 
its  Director,  M.  Moreau  Sainti,  for  their  beauty 
of  form,  as  well  as  for  their  good  looks.  The 
Folies-Dramatiques  accommodates  1,200  persons. 


LES  FOLIES-MARIGNY. 

This  theatre  is  considered  as  the  Palais  Royal 
theatre  of  the  Champs-Elysees.  Amongst  the  au- 
dience are  the  most  coquettish  of  the  ladies'  maids, 
and  most  exquisite  of  the  gentlemen's  gentleman 
belonging  to  the  wealthy  families  of  that  aris- 
tocratic quarter.  The  style  of  performance  is  far- 
cial  and  coarse.  The  playbill  is  composed  of  such 
quasimonologues  as  "  Je  me  Marie  demain,"  "  La 


98  THEATRES. 

Fantaisie  Indienne,"  "  La  Tribu  des  Ongles  Roses," 
"  Changement  de  Garnison,"  &c.,  acted  by  Dupha- 
nel,  Labarre,  and  a  host  of  pretty  women,  such  as 
Mesdaraes  Caccia,  La  Rochelle,  Marie  Jaly,  Bade, 
e  tutu  quantl. 

In  addition  to  these  principal  theatres  are  the 
Theatre  Dejazet,  Fantaisies-Parisiennes,  Thea,tre 
Beaumarchais-Comique,  Thei,tre  de  Clumy,  Theatre 
de  Montniartre,  Menus-Plaisirs,  &c. 


HIPPODROME. 

This  magnificent  structure,  far  surpassing  in  el- 
egance any  building  yet  erected  for  arenic  contests, 
since  the  days  of  Roman  power,  comfortably  seats 
15,000  people,  and  is  arranged  with  a  view  to  ac- 
commodate every  class. 

It  has  two  monumental  fagades^  one  on  the  ave- 
nue Josephine,  the  Grand  Entrance,  and  the  other 
on  the  avenue  de  I'Alma.  There  is  no  city  in  the 
world  where  so  much  money  would  have  been  ex- 
pended upon  a  temporary  building,  as  the  owners 
of  the  "  Hippodrome  de  Champs-Ely  sees"  have 
spent.  The  present  building  was  erected  to  meet 
the  demands  of  this  summer's  season,  and  will  re- 
main onl}^  until  the  stones  are  cut  and  the  iron 
cast  of  which  the  permanent  edifice  will  be  built. 
It  is  a  small  Exposition  of  itself,  for  it  contains, 
cafes,  restaurants,  beer  gardens,  shooting  galleries, 
and  all  sorts  of  games. 

Every  precaution  has  been  taken  to  insure  safety 
from  fire,  and  there  is  not  an  inch  of  the  wood,  but 
what  has  been  covered  with  a  thick  coating  of  as- 
bestos. 

The  ring  is  laid  out  after  the  manner  of,  and  is 
in  fact  a  miniature  copy  of  the  famous.  Long-champs 
race  course,  and  is  over  fifty  feet  in  width.  The 
central  garden  was  laid  out  by  the  head  gardener 
of  the  city  of  Paris,  and  is  in  keeping  with  the  bril- 


THEATRES.  99 

liancy  of  the  other  portions  of  this  coh)sgal  pile. 
There  are  several  subterranean  passages  opening 
into  different  portions  of  the  arena  and  garden, 
destined  to  facilitate  the  production  of  horse  dra- 
mas, for  the  which,  the  old  Hippodrome,  destroyed 
in  1869,  was  so  justly  celebrated. 


CIRQUE  DES  CHAMPS-ELYS1^:ES. 
This  elegant  marble  building,  occupies  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  sites  of  Paris,  on  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  encircled  by  the  finest  trees  and  shrubber- 
ies of  the  avenue.  It  is  tho  largest  circus  building 
in  the  world,  and  by  far  the  most  gorgeous,  being 
built  of  Carrara  marble,  with  inlaid  slabs  of  dif- 
ferent colored  rare  kinds  of  marble.  The  portico  ov- 
er the  grand  entrance  is  pronounced  by  competent 
judges  to  rival  those  of  many  of  the  Palaces,  and  the 
bronze  group  of  horses  over  the  portico  is  equalled 
only  by  that  of  the  Arc  de  triomphe  du  carrousel, 
which  is  a  copy  of  the  famous  group  Napoleon 
took  from  Venice,  but  which  the  allies  restored  to 
her.  The  interior  decorations  almost  surpass  de- 
scription, and  would  seem  more  appropriate  for  a 
palace  than  a  circus,  to  a  people  unaccustomed  to 
see  elegance  everywhere,  such  as  exists  in  Paris. 
The  entire  ceiling  is  composed  of  frescoes  by 
known  French  masters,  each  relative  to  some 
branch  of  the  profession.  They  are  painted  in  the 
Fra  Angelica  school,  and  when  the  light  of  the 
central  chandelier,  which  is  of  rock  crystal,  strikes 
the  glittering  mass  of  gilding,  the  effect  is  gor- 
geous beyond  description.  One  of  the  principal 
features  to  see  is  the  stables,  which  were  modeled 
after  those  of  the  late  Emperor,  and  which  now 
rank  as  the  finest  in  the  city  since  the  closing  of 
the  Imperial  stud.  Particular  notice  should  be 
given  to  the  intricate  designs  of  the  braided  straw 
which  line  the  stalls.      There  is  also  a  complete 


100  THEATRES. 

gymnasium  attached.  Of  the  performances  it  is  use- 
less to  speak,  for  they  are  conceded  by  all  managers 
to  be  the  best ;  and  the  fact  that  almost  all  the  nov- 
elties for  the  rest  of  the  world,  are  drawn  from 
them,  is  sufficient  recognition  of  their  merits. 

The  Cirque  de  Champs-Elysees,  or  Cirque  de 
rimperatrice,  as  it  was  called  before  The  Eepub- 
lic  instituted  its  numerous  reforms,  only  remains 
open  during  the  summer  months ;  in  the  winter  the 
company  is  transferred  to  the 


CIRQUE  D'HIVER, 

"Which  also  was  subjected  to  a  reform,  at  the  hands 
of  men  of  the  4th  of  September,  its  former  name 
having  been  the  Cirque  Kapoleon.  This  building, 
situated  on  the  Boulevard  des  Filles  du  Calvaire,  is 
not  as  elegant  as  its  brother  circus.  Both  of  these 
edifices  are  owned  by  a  stock  company.  The 
one  playing  in  the  winter  and  the  other  in  the 
summer,  in  point  of  excellence  of  performance 
there  is  no  difference.  The  present  director,  Mr. 
Franconi,  is  well  known  to  Americans  as  having 
been  the  first  man  to  introduce  a  Hippodrome  per- 
formance in  America.  Many  people  remember 
when  scarce  twenty  years  ago,  Franconi's  Hippo- 
drome occupied  the  same  ground  where  the  Fifth 
avenue  hotel  in  E"ew  York  now  stands. 


CAF]&S  AND  EESTAURAIN-TS. 


The  number  of  cafes  and  restaurants  in  Paris  is 
legion.  It  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  give  a 
description  of  even  a  hundredth  part  of  them  in  so 
concise  a  work  as  the  one  we  lay  before  the  reader, 
therefore  we  have  selected  a  certain  very  limited 
number  that  offer  especial  attraction  to  Americans, 
and  Enghshmen,  either  on  account  of  the  English 
language  being  understood  and  English  and  Amer- 
ican dishes  and  drinks  being  found  there,  or  by 
reason  of  the  scenes  that  are  daily  enacted  and  that 
offer  special  means  of  studying  Paris  life,  morals, 
and  manners. 

Cafe  ANGLA.IS,  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 

Cape  Riche,  „  „  „ 

Peters',  „  ,,  ,; 

La  Maison  Dokee,     ,,         „  ,, 

Hill's,  Boulevard  des  Capucines. 

Les  Tkois  Freres  Proven^aux,  Palais- Royal. 

Vefour,  Palais-Royal. 

All   first  class  and  excellent,  but  expeiisive  in  comparison 
with  other  restaurants. 

Diner  Europeen,  14,  Boulevard  des  Italiens 
Diner  de  Paris,  Passage  Jouffroy.     First  class  and 
medium  price. 

Bill  of  Fare. 

Soup,  Fish,  Meat,  Bread  and  Butter,  Dessert  and  a  bot- 
tle of  wine,  all  for  5  fr.  (one  dollar). 


102  CAFES   AND   RESTAURANTS. 

THE  DINER  EUROPEEN, 

Boulevard  des  Italiens,  14, 

Has  just  been  transferred  to  these  elegant  rooms 
from  the  Palais-Royal,  where  it  has  so  long  been  the 
favorite  resort  of  Americans  and  Englishmen,  who 
desire  a  good  breakfast  and  dinner  at  a  reasonable 
rate.  The  absence  of  an  establishment  of  this  sort 
on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  has  been  much  com- 
mented on  by  tourists,  who,  living  in  this  part  of 
Paris,  had  to  walk  a  great  distance  to  get  their 
meals  if  they  did  not  wish  to  pay  the  high  prices 
of  restaurants  a  la  carte.  The  breakfast  at  the  Di- 
ner Uuropeen,  at  2fr.  50c.  comprises  a  half-bottle  of 
wine,  two  hors-d^ceuvres,  two  dishes  at  choice,  and 
two  desserts.  For  5  francs  you  have  a  dinner 
consisting  of  a  bottle  of  wine,  soup,  two  hors- 
d'oeuvres,  three  dishes  at  choice,  salad,  ice-cream, 
and  two  desserts.  M.  FRAN901S,  the  proprietor,  is 
very  affable  and  obliging.  His  wines,  especially 
his  Romanee  Conti  of  1846  and  his  Johannisberg 
are  well  known  to  connoisseurs. 

The  favorite  resort  of  Americans  to  get  a  good 
dinner  at  a  moderate  price  is  at  the  Palais  Royal 
at  numerous  Restaurants,  among  which  are  the 
following; 

Cinq  Arcades,  Palais-Royal, 
La-Trappe,  ii         ii 

Mille-Colonnes,    "         " 

Dinners,  'i  fr.  75  (^55  cents)  ;  including  Soup,  Fish,  Meat, 
Vegetables,  Dessert,  and  half-bottle  Claret  wine.  It  is  custom- 
ary to  give  the  waiter  a  small  fee.  25  centim,es  (5  cts.)  Hand 
the  waiter  your  money  and  pourboir  at  same  time. 


THE  CAFJfi  DU  S^NAT, 

No.  16,  Rue  de  Vaugirard,  a  few  steps  from  the 
Odeon,  and  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
the  Luxembourg,  is  well  worth  a  trip  from  the 
fashionable  Boulevard  quarter.  Besides  the  fact 
that  the  student  element  can  be  seen  there  in  its 


CAFES   AND   RESTAURANTS.  103 

purity,  it  offers  quite  a  novel  and  extraordinary 
attraction.  You  are  not  deafened  there  by  the 
shouts  of  surly  waiters  howling  their  "  versez  "  and 
"bourn"  about  your  ears;  but  you  are  served  by 
the  choice  among  the  pretty  girls  that  Paris  can 
boast  of,  dressed  in  those  beautiful  costumes  that 
you  see  on  the  staircase  of  Santa  Maria  del  Monte 
at  Rome,  and  of  those  more  simple,  but  not  less 
pleasing  ones,  that  men  admire  amongst  the  crowd 
that  fills  the  Puerta  del  Sol  at  Madrid  an  fine  sum- 
mer evenings.  There  is  no  increase  in  the  price 
of  drinks  to  be  paid  for ;  and  Mr.  Lambert,  the 
proprietor,  who  also  speaks  the  Malay  language 
from  having  lived  five  years  in  the  East  Indies, 
cannot  be  too  highly  recommended  for  his  affability 
and  obliging  character. 


THE  AMERICAN  TA\^ERN, 

17  Rue  Cujas,  17, 

At  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Victor  Cousin,  close  to 
the  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  is  much  frequented  by 
American  and  English  students,  being  the  most 
central  house  of  the  Latin  Quarter.  Mr.  Jacobs, 
the  proprietor,  speaks  English,  and  English  papers 
are  kept  there.  The  American  Tavern  is  the  only 
establishment  in  the  Student's  Quarter  where  pale 
ale,  porter  &c.,  are  kept  on  draught.  Mr.  J.  is  also 
well  up  in  concocting  the  divers  drinks  that  make 
the  delight  of  an  American  bar-room.  Anybody  re- 
turning from  a  visit  to  the  Luxembourg  Gardens, 
the  Pantheon,  the  Bal  Bullier,  &c.,  will  find  this  a 
very  convenient  establishment  for  refreshments  and 
meals,  as  the  fare  is  excellent  and  the  prices  ex- 
ceedingly moderate.  Mr.  Jacobs'  civility  in  giving 
useful  information  to  his  customers  cannot  be 
praised  too  much. 


104  CAFES   AND   RESTAURANTS. 

THE  CAF6  DE  LA  RJfiGENCE, 

In  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  near  the  Palais-Royal, 
has  exchanged  its  former  modest  but  celebrated 
rooms  for  the  present  elegant  saloons  It  is  here 
the  masters  of  the  royal  game  of  chess  assemble, 
here  they  pass  hours  and  hours  before  the  check- 
ered board.  The  place  is  rich  with  souvenirs  of 
Philidor  and  Labourdonnaye  ;  here  the  American 
chess-giant,  Morphy,  played  his  seven  games  blind- 
folded; here  he  beat  the  victor  of  the  London 
Chess  Tournament,  the  veteran  Anderssen.  Cel- 
ebrities of  the  Parisian  Chess  Club,  as  De  la 
Riviere,  J^eumanu,  Kolisch,  Gzarnowski,  are  con- 
tinually to  be  found  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Regence. 


THE  CAF:fi  DU  DELTA, 

On  the  Boulevard  Rochechouart  is  the  glory  of  this 
working-men's  district.  The  ouvrier  element  can 
be  well  studied  there.  Anybody  visiting  the  estab- 
lishment will  be  astonished  at  the  sober  good  con- 
duct of  these  rough  fellows  who  sit  there  in  theii 
blouses  sipping  their  gloria,  and  who  generally  han- 
dle the  queue  with  as  much  ease  as  and  with  les? 
noisy  talk  than  most  players  at  the  grand  Cafe  o} 
the  Cafe  de  Suede. 


THE  CAFI:  DESIRE, 

In  the  Rue  le  Pelletier,  near  to  the  Boulevard,  has 
the  same  importance  to  billiard-players  as  the  Cafe 
de  la  Regence,  to  amateurs  of  chess.  E'early  every 
night  some  very  interesting  games  are  played 
there. 


THE  CAF£  PfiRE, 

At  the  angle  of  the  Rue  du  Pont-]N'euf  and  the  Rue 
de  la  Monnaie,  is  the  youthful  rival  of  the  Cafe 


CAFES   AND    RESTAURANTS.  105 

Desire.     Lessons  in  billiards  are  given  there  by  ex- 
pert professors. 


THE  GRAND  CAF^  PARISIEN, 

On  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  is  the  largest  of 
Parisian  cafes.  Twenty-two  billiard  tables  are 
kept  going  there  by  the  working  men  who  crowd 
the  place  in  the  evening. 


THE  CAF^  PROCOPE, 

'No.  13,  Rue  de  I'Ancienne  Comedie,  is  the  most 
ancient  cafe  in  Paris.  During  the  last  century  it 
was  visited  by  many  celebrated  w^riters  and  litera- 
ry men  ;  Voltaire,  Diderot,  Rousseau,  and  Rameau 
among  them. 


CAF]fi  DU  MUSJSE  DE  CLUNY, 

At  the  corner  of  the  Boulevards  St.  Michel  and  St. 
Germain  is  about  the  best  type  and  at  the  same 
time  the  most  brilliant  of  the  cafes  of  the  students' 
quarter.  There  the  sons  of  Alma  Mater  assemble 
to  spend  their  evenings  in  fierce  political  discus- 
sions, or  at  the  more  peaceful  but  far  more  expen- 
sive pastime  of  the  game  of  billiards.  Hot-headed 
but  noble-hearted  fellows  these  young  Frenchmen, 
-who  would  just  as  eagerly  take  a  stand,  rifle  in 
hand,  behind  a  barricade,  as  they  now  crowd 
around  the  green  covered  tables.  One  has  to  know 
them  to  appreciate  them. 


TO   ANTIQUARIANS, 

One  of  the  most  noticeable  things  in  Paris,  is  the 
vast  number  of  quaint  old  books  and  Engravings, 
displayed  in  the  streets. 

The  walls  enclosing  the  Seine  are  in  many  places 


106  NOOKS    AND    CORNERS    OF   PARIS    LIFE. 

lined  with  them.  This  is  especially  true  on  the 
southern  side  of  the  river,  in  the  Latin  quarter. 
For  a  distance  of  perhaps  3  miles,  boxes  and  shelves 
iilled  with  rare  and  curious  old  books,  engravings 
etc.,  such  as  can  only  be  seen  in  this  particular 
district,  invite  attention.  Among  trashy  publica- 
tions, such  as  ballads  and  romances,  one  often  finds 
valuable  old  books,  which  can  sometimes  be  bought 
fabulously  cheap.  Tourists  wishing  to  go  there 
cheaply,  should  take  omnibus  H.,  yellow,  which 
crosses  the  bridge  and  passes  directly  by  these  re- 
positories, en  route  to  the  Odeon  Theatre.  Omni- 
bus starts  from  No.  8  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  a 
short  distance  above  the  Grand  Hotel. 


NOOKS  AND  CORNERS  OF  PARIS  LIFE. 


The  outward  type  of  this  great  metropolis,  re- 
veals many  a  fact  worthy  of  the  notice  of  an  en- 
lightened mind,  and  which  in  this  chapter  we  pro- 
pose to  jot  down,  thereby  giving  a  rapid  resume  of 
some  of  the  most  noteworthy  phases  of  Paris  life. 
Among  these  curiosities,  decidedly,  are  the  small 
carts  which,  from  five  to  six,  every  morning,  call 
at  the  back  gates  of  the  embassies,  palaces,  minis- 
tries, restaurants,  hotels  and  great  houses  in  gen- 
eral, to  receive  the  remains  of  the  dinners  left,  not 
by  the  upper  ten  thousand  only,  but  likewise  by 
their  servants;  and   sold  every   morning  by   the 


NOOKS   AND    CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  107 

cooks  to  the  emissaries  of  a  race  of  costermongers 
whose  stalls  at  the  Ilalles  (or  great  markets)  are 
furnished  by  these  "  baked  meats,"  which  made 
their  first  debut  on  the  tables  of  those  who  rule  our 
destinies.  These  carts  are  closed  in,  and  recogniz- 
able by  a  sort  of  chimney  in  the  top,  which  admits 
of  free  circulation  of  air.  The  remains  are  thrown 
pellmell  into  these  carts,  and  are  paid  for  by  the 
pound.  You  may  imagine  the  aspect  presented 
by  this  oUa podrida,  called  "  Arlequins,"  when  it 
reaches  the  vender's  stall.  The  first  process  is 
the  triage,  or  sorting, — a  work  of  no  small  difficul- 
ty— when  portions  of  lobsters  a  la  mayonnaise  be- 
smeared with  soup  a  la  Julienne,  have  to  be  extract- 
ed from  the  remains  of  fruit  tarts,  in  which  they 
are  imbedded.  The  most  presentable  morsels  are 
pared,  cleaned,  and  arranged  on  a  dish  ;  this  pro- 
cess, taking  place  in  some  remote  corner  far  from 
human  ken,  is  naturally  mysterious.  Strange  to 
say,  by  twelve  o'clock,  these  scraps  from  the  plates 
of  rich  men  are  eagerly  bought  up  by  a  certain 
class  of  the  poor,  who  prefer  their  savoury  flavor 
to  more  wholesome  food.  Whatever  cannot  be 
sufficiently  pared,  and  arranged  for  human  appe- 
tite, is  disposed  of  for  the  food  of  pet  house  dogs, 
Italian  grey  hounds,  and  such  like  aristocratic 
quadrupeds.  The  bones,  however,  found  in  these 
deposits  are  laid  aside,  and  sold  to  the  manufactur- 
ers of  concentrated  meat  lozenges;  and  by  them, 
after  having  been  boiled  down,  are  got  rid  of  to 
the  compounders  of  animal  black,  so  much  in  de- 
mand by  house  painters,  &c. 

But  to  return  to  the  Arlequins.  This  trade  of 
buying  up  the  remains  of  our  friend's  side  dishes, 
is  by  no  means  a  bad  one.  Many  of  those  who 
pursue  it  retire,  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  years, 
on  four  or  ^yq  hundred  a  year.     Pas  mat ! 

To  witness  the  scenes  we  have  just  described, 
as  well  as  other  similar  ones,  no  less  interesting 
and  curious,  the  reader  should  resort  to  the 


108  NOOKS   AND    CORNERS    OF    PARIS    LIFE. 

GREAT  MARKETS, 


HALLES   CENTRALES, 

Between  the  hours  of  four  and  five  in  the  morn- 
ing. This  splendid  market-place  is  situated  facing 
the  celebrated  church  of  St.  Eustache.  The  cel- 
lars are  worth  seeing;  they  are  literally  crowded 
with  fish,  fowls,  meat,  game,  cheese,  butter,  &c., 
and  may  easily  be  visited,  upon  application  at  the 
overseer's  lodge. 

The  next  branch  of  this  trade  is  the  bakers  en 
vieux.  It  is  also  most  remunerative.  To  collect 
the  crusts  thrown  away  by  the  college  boys,  or 
dropped  by  these  careless  youngster  in  their  play- 
grounds, trampled  on,  and  oftentimes  bedaubed 
with  ink,  but  gathered  by  the  chiffonniers  during 
the  night,  on  the  tas  d' ordures  of  the  city,  has  prov- 
ed to  be  a  lucrative  occupation.  The  cleanest  of 
these  soiled  and  uninviting  crusts  are  bought  by 
second-rate  bakers,  who,  after  having  had  them 
dried  in  an  oven,  sell  them  for  the  croute  au  yot, 
with  which  soup  all  familiar  with  French  cookery 
are  well  acquainted.  Furthermore,  these  choice 
bits  of  old  bread  are  cut  up  into  the  three-cornered 
morsels  which,  fried  in  butter,  adorn  some  of  the 
vegetable  dishes  we  enjoy  at  favorite  restaurants. 
But  there  yet  remains  a  mass  of  mud-stained,  dust 
soiled  scraps,  which  once  were  bread.  These, 
worked  up  in  a  mortar  and  pulverized,  are  sold  as 
the  chapelure  blanche  in  which  our  cutlets  are  dress- 
ed, or,  to  use  the  technical  term  j^anees  ;  and  also 
as  the  chapelure  brune,  which  is  sifted  over  the 
small  hams  called  jambonneaux.  There  still,  how- 
ever, remains  dust  which  it  has  been  impossible  to 
workup,  this  is  blackened  in  the  oven,  reduced  to 
an  impalpable  black  powder,  mixed  with  honey,  to 
which  is  added  a  few  drops  of  peppermint,  and 
sold  as  an  infallible  cure  for  tooth-ache — for  which 


NOOKS   AND    CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  109 

ailment  it  is  said  to  be  quite  as  efficacious  as  any- 
thing recommended  b}^  "  the  faculty."  There  is  a 
passage  in  Homer  which  has  often  struck  our  fan- 
cy. It  is  that  where  Jupiter  is  represented  as  ^'tak- 
ing off  his  eyes  with  satiety  from  the  horrors  of  the 
hattle-field^  and  relieving  himself  icith  a  vieio  of  the  Hip- 
pomolgi^'^  a  people  famous  for  their  innocence  and 
simplicity  of  manners, — how  many  a  time  does  one 
not  feel  the  inclination  to  draw  one's  mind  from 
this  artificial  and  ostentatious  life.  Indeed,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  Paris  is  so  blind  as  to  require 
daily  the  enormous  supply  of 

MANUFACTURED  EYES, 

which  is  annually  disposed  of  The  average  sale 
in  this  city  alone,  of  manufactured  eyes  intended 
for  the  human  head,  amounts  to  four  hundred  per 
week. 

Paris  appears  to  have  the  monopoly  of  this 
strange  trade — which  would  certainly  lead  one  to 
conclude  that  the  population  of  that  city  is  not 
very  clear  sighted.  Twelve  eye-manufacturers 
flourish  within  the  barriers ;  each  of  which  furnish- 
es employment  to  twenty  workmen,  English  and 
American  enamellers  have  vainly  tried  to  com- 
pete with  the  French  occulist  artists.  "  Do  you 
see,  sir,"  remarked  one  of  the  latter,  ''  Englishmen 
have  not  sufficient  taste  for  this  trade  ;  their  eyes 
are  only  good  enough  for  stuffed  animals." 

The  said  occulist,  who  stands  at  the  head  of  this 
business,  receives  his  customors  in  a  magnificent 
saloon,  resplendent  with  gilding  and  mirrors.  His 
servant  has  but  one  eye,  and  if  you  would  judge 
of  the  effect  of  a  false  eye,  the  master  rings  the 
bell — and  tries  the  eye  in  the  orbit  of  the  wretch- 
ed servant.  The  charges  are  forty  or  fifty  francs 
per  eye,  purchased  at  this  well-known  establish- 
ment. For  the  poor,  there  are  second-hand  visual 
organs,  which    have   been  worn  by  some  eyeless 


110  NOOKS   AND   COKNERS    OF   PARIS    LIFE. 

Duke  or  Nabob,  and  exchanged  for  a  new  one 
after  several  months  service. 

Paris  is  truly  a  mighty  ogre,  which  swallows  up 
the  produce  of  the  Empire.  Paris  dines  at  the 
rate  of  |  40,000  or  two  millions  of  francs  per  day, 
including  for  brandy  and  liquors  80,000  fr.,  or 
116,000,  and  for  toothpicks  8,000  fr.,  or  $1,300.  By 
this  calculation  the  dinner  of  each  inhabitant 
would  cost  one  franc,  twenty-five  centimes  (twen- 
ty-five cents). 

Drunkness  is  by  no  means  a  French  failing ; 
still,  an  Englishman  strolling  along  the  Boule- 
vards, more  especially  of  an  evening,  cannot  help 
noticing  the  crowds  that  throng  the  cafes.  Though 
their  chief  object,  undoubtedly,  is  to  enjoy  the 
fresh  air,  to  see  the  people  pass  b}^,  to  read  the 
papers,  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  an  increased  quantity  of  alcohol  is  absorb- 
ed. The  most  dangerous  practice  indulged  in  by 
Parisians  is  certainly  drinking  absinthe. 

Every  class  of  society,  from  the  man  of  the 
world  to  the  artisan,  from  the  field  marshal  to  the 
private,  the  proprietor  to  the  clerk,  all  are  equally 
addicted  to  this  green  opaque  liquid,  the  rage  for 
which  is  rapidly  spreading  all  over  the  provinces. 
In  one  commune  of  the  Seine,  composed  of  9,000 
inhabitants,  2,000  hectolitres  of  spirituous  liquors 
are  annually  comsumed,  as  well  as  1,800  hectolitres 
of  absinthe.  We  refer  the  reader  to  the  register  of 
Charenton,  where  in  1860,  out  of  176  persons  ad- 
mitted as  lunatics,  sixty  had  become  insane  from 
drink ;  and  in  1861,  of  174  admitted,  forty- two  had 
suffered  from  the  same  cause. 

From  absinthe  and  spirits  to  cigars  the  transi- 
tion is  natural.  In  1832  tobacco  produced  a  tax 
of  28,000,000  fr.,  whilst  in  1862,  the  consumption 
of  this  noxious  weed  brought  to  Government  the 
sum  of  180,000,000  fr.  In  1852,  200,000,000  cigars 
were  smoked  in  Paris,  whereas,  in  1867  the  num- 


NOOKS   AND   CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  Ill 

ber  increased  to  767,625,000,  and  in  1874,  933,872, 
496.  In  one  single  shop  in  Paris,  t?ie  one  under 
the  Grand  Hotel,  which  depot  also  belongs  to  the 
Government  manufactory,  5,000  fr.  worth  of  cigars 
are  daily  sold. 


THE  SNUFF  AND  TOBACCO 

Shops  in  Paris  are  granted  by  Government  to  the 
widows  of  general  officers,  colonels  or  men  who 
have  served  their  country  in  any  of  the  public  of- 
fices, but  whose  families  are  in  distressed  circum- 
stances. The  ladies  who,  in  the  acknowledgment 
of  their  husbands  or  fathers  services,  have  obtained 
a  dibit  cle  tabac,  naturally  do  not  sit  behind  the 
counter,  but  let  their  shops  to  women  accustomed 
to  the  trade.  These  women  profit  enormously  by 
the  speculation,  more  especially  as  they  are  like- 
wise bound  to  sell  postage  stamps,  which  sale  nat- 
urally attracts  a  great  number  of  customers. 


THE  OMNIBUS  SYSTEM, 

Another  item  of  Paris  life,  justly  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  foreigner,  are  the  omnibuses,  on 
the  organization  of  which  this  book  will  contain 
every  possible  information.  During  the  past  year 
93,279,721  individuals  traversed  Paris  by  means 
of  these  useful  vehicles,  of  whom  53,814,766  occu- 
pied seats  inside,  while  34,464,955  preferred  the 
outside,  or  as  it  is  here  termed  rimperiale. 

From  half-past  ^yq  in  the  morning  to  twelve 
o'clock  at  night  the  omnibuses  circulate  through 
Paris.  The  Omnibus  Company,  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  prosperous  in  France,  pays  an  annual 
sum  to  Government  for  the  monopoly  of  these  ve- 
hicles, which  amounts  to  $200,000.  The  Paris  omni- 
buses convey  about  one  hundred  millions  passen- 


112  NOOKS   AND   CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE. 

gers  per  annum.  Different  offices  or  Bureaux  are  es- 
tablished in  the  streets,  boulevards,  and  squares, 
to  take  up  passengers  and  set  down  those  who  ask 
for  Si  correspondance,  viz.  a  check  which  is  delivered 
gratis,  and  enables  the  traveller  to  deviate  from  the 
direct  line,  and  continue  his  journey  by  entering 
another  omnibus.  Thus  for  the  sum  of  six  sous, 
you  may  go  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other. 
There  is  no  cheaper  method  or  better  way  to  form 
a  rapid  idea  of  the  extent  and  beauty  of  Paris  than 
to  go  on  the  top  of  a  'bus  and  travel  from  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe  to  the  Bastille,  returning  by  the 
left  bank  of  the  Seine,  especially  of  an  afternoon 
when  the  whole  city  is  swarming  with  life. 

Should  the  excursionists  renew  the  same  drive 
between  eight  and  ten  in  the  evening,  when  the 
prolile  of  Paris  houses  is  traced  by  long  lines  of 
light,  which  appear  to  link  them  together  as  if  with 
golden  chains,  he  will  then  have  acquired  in  a  few 
hours  as  correct  an  idea  of  Paris  out-door  life  as  if 
he  had  spent  several  days  in  the  metropolis.  The 
same  promenade  through  the  veins  and  arteries  of 
this  huge  giant,  ought  to  be  tried  in  the  still 
hours  of  the  morning,  amid  the  momentary  lull  so 
soon  to  be  broken  by  the  awakening  of  thousands 
of  hearts  and  the  collision  of  countless  interests. 
These  remarks  are  made  for  the  benefit  of  our 
readers,  and  to  any  strangers  who  may  happen  to 
be  coming  over  here,  we  strongly  recommend  the 
following  up  of  the  plan  just  suggested.  Had  we 
the  uncontrolled  chaperoning  of  an  intelligent 
sight-seer,  we  should  begin  with  the  streets  and 
tliread  them  thoroughly,  before  we  sought  out  the 
accredited  lions.  We  must  add  that  besides  the 
regular  Paris  omnibuses  there  are  650  plying  from 
the  capital  to  the  suburbs,  such  as  Yincennes, 
Boulogne,  Saint  Cloud,  Meaux,    &c. 

Many  interesting  particulars  respecting  two  im- 
portant classes   of  the  Parisian  population — the 


NOOKS  AND   CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  113 

thieves  and  the  police — can  be  given,  which  will  be 
of  deep  interest  to  the  general  reader. 


THE  CRIMINAL  RECORD, 
(armee  du  crime,) 

Is  divided  into  regular  classes  and  ranks,  beo:innino: 
with  the  "  vagabond,"  "  tramp,"  whom  they 
encourage,  supplying  him  with  gratuitous  board 
and  lodging  at  the  workhouse,  and  ending  with  the 
regular  thief  and  burglar,  who  will  not  hesitate 
to  sacrifice  human  life  when  in  quest  of  prey. 
Each  class  of  the  thieving  community  has  its 
proper  name  in  slang,  some  of  the  terms  being 
evidently  of  gipsy  origin — the  gipsies  themselves 
are  called  in  French  thieves'  dialect,  "  roman- 
ichels,"  which  every  reader  of  Borrow  knows  is 
pure  gipsy.  The  thieving  category  is  headed  by 
the  faiseurs,  "  the  most  numerous  and  dangerous 
of  all,"  for  we  are  not  on  our  guard  against  them, 
and  meet  them  everywhere  and  every  day — in  the 
streets,  at  the  play,  at  the  cafe,  at  the  fashionable 
watering-places,  everywhere  in  short.  The  faiseur 
generally  has  an  "  office"  in  the  commercial  quarter 
of  the  town ;  a  den  invariably  on  the  entresol,  and 
plentifully  garnished  with  ledgers,  &c.  The  room 
is  mostly  divided  into  two  by  a  grating,  with  caisse 
painted  on  a  black  board  in  large  letters.  These 
sharks  are  as  a  rule,  partial  to  advertising  for  funds 
— promising  first-class  investments,  huge  interest, 
unexceptionable  security.  A  certain  number  of  gulls 
are  invariably  caught,  fleeced,  and  most  of  them 
only  curse  their  own  folly  in  having  indulged  in 
rash  speculation.  The  faiseurs  are  great  hands  at 
buying  on  credit  and  selling  for  cash;  when  the 
bill  they  have  signed  falls  due  the  collecting  clerk 
generally  finds  the  lodging  to  let,  and  that  the 
tenant  has  forgotten  to  leave  his  address.  These 
fellows    leave    nothing    untried  —  stock-jobbing, 


114  NOOKS  AND   CORNERS   OF  PARIS  LIFE. 

banking,  trade,  joint-stock  companies,  &c.,  all  with 
a  deliberate  intention  of  swindling.  In  one  case, 
tried  not  so  very  long  ago,  one  of  the  faiseur  frater- 
nity rigged  himself  out  in  a  general's  uniform,  and, 
representing  himself  as  one  of  the  aides-de-camp 
of  the  Minister  of  War,  succeeded  in  making  a 
large  haul.  When  these  worthies  feel  it  necessary 
to  resort  to  a  little  kite-flying,  they  manufacture 
bills  of  exchange,  and  have  them  endorsed  by  peo- 
ple who  make  a  trade  of  it,  at  so  much  per  signa- 
ture ;  the  price  of  this  accommodation  varies  be- 
tween twenty  centimes  and  &ve  francs,  according 
to  the  amount.  This  dirty  business  is  carried  on 
publicly,  and  two  large  cafes  in  the  wealthiest  part 
of  the  town  are  exclusively  frequented  by  this  dis- 
reputable clientele.  Their  fates  are  different;  some 
of  them  ripen  into  millionaires,  others  are  sent  to 
galleys,  or  are  meditating  at  Cayenne  over  their 
hard  luck.  It  was  estimated  that  in  Louis  Phil- 
ippe's time  these  sharks  annually  plundered  the 
public  to  the  extent  of  seventy  millions  of  francs, 
or  three  millions  sterling. 

Compared  with  the  faiseurs,  the  other  members 
of  the  criminal  family  are  comparatively  harmless ; 
the  next  class  in  order  of  merit  consists  of 

BEGGARS  DRAGUERS  DE  LA  HAUTE. 

Professedly,  they  are  beggars  of  the  shabby  genteel 
school;  they  give  themselves  out  as  broken-down 
lawyers  when  they  solicit  alms  from  a  lawyer ;  ru- 
ined clergymen  when  appealing  to  a  clergyman, 
and  so  on.  They  are  remarkably  clever  with  their 
hands,  and  the  dexterity  with  which  they  will 
walk  off  with  a  watch,  a  spoon,  a  piece  of  plate, 
&c.,  bespeaks  them  artists  in  their  way.  The  pick- 
pockets are  considered  a  long  way  below  those  in 
England ;  but  shoplifting  has  attained  the  perfec- 
tion of  a  science.     A  story  is  told  of  a  professor  of 


NOOKS  AND   CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  115 

tills  branch  of  robbery  who,  in  the  course  of  an 
afternoon's  walk,  had  stolen  from  shops  in  various 
parts  of  the  town  a  cigar-case,  a  watch-case,  a  cane, 
a  ring,  a  pocket-book,  and  a  pair  of  shoes.  Burg- 
lary and  murder  are  not  extensively  pursued  as 
professions,  though  there  have  been  remarkable 
instances  of  these  Parisian  banditti  who  make  mur- 
der the  very  basis  of  their  operations.  The  most 
celebrated  of  these  was  Lacenaire  He  used  to  sign 
bills  for  small  amounts,  payable  in  the  dingiest 
parts  of  the  town,  and  when  the  collecting  clerk 
presented  the  bill,  Lacenaire  used  to  drive  a  long 
sailraaker's  needle  into  his  heart,  and  rifle  his 
pockets.  In  early  life  Lacenaire,  who  wrote  a  cap- 
ital hand,  earned  his  bread  by  copying  MSS.  One 
day  two  authors  left  him  the  manuscript  of  a  play 
to  copy,  but  he  returned  it  next  day,  and  said  he 
would  not  do  it.  The  astounded  author  asked 
why — was  he  not  satisfied  with  the  terms  ?  "  Yes, 
the  terms  are  well  enough,  but  I  can't  do  your 
play — e'est  trop  htte^^  (it  is  too  stupid.) 

Another  clever  story  is  told  of  one  Beaumont. 
Attired  in  an  immaculate  black  suit,  with  white 
choker,  portfolio,  &c. — the  very  picture  of  a  pro- 
cureur  Imperial — he  entered  the  guard-room  at  the 
Prefecture  of  Police,  ordered  a  soldier  to  accom- 
pany him,  opened  (with  a  false  key)  the  door  of 
the  chief  secretar3^'s  office,  made  the  soldier  stand 
sentry  and  prevent  his  being  disturbed,  plundered 
the  office,  left  a  note  for  the  secretary  expressing 
his  regret  at  any  inconvenience  he  might  have 
caused,  sent  the  soldier  back  to  the  guard-house, 
walked  off,  and  was  never  caught. 

The  thieves'  places  of  amusement,  the  pictur- 
esque tapis  francs,  the  Cafe  des  Pieds  Humides,  the 
celebrated  haunt  known  as  the  Cochon  Jidele,  have 
all  been  improved  away  by  M.  Haussmann's 
hammer,  and  those  which  remain  the  writer  has 
probably  visited  too  superficially  to  be  able  to  give 


116  NOOKS   AND    COHNERS    OF    PARIS    LIFE. 

a  graphic  account  of  tliem.  One  of  the  most  re- 
markable of  these  haunts  is  a  large  cafe  on  the 
Boulevard  Moutparnasse,  not  far  from  the  station 
of  the  Brest  Railway.  Its  outward  appearance  is 
most  respectable,  and  the  first  room  as  you  enter 
presents  the  usual  features  of  a  French  cafe — quiet- 
looking  people  drinking  coffee  or  absinthe,  smok- 
ing, or  playing  dominoes.  But  cross  the  room, 
throw  open  the  folding-doors  at  the  back,  and  you 
find  yourself  in  a  huge  hall,  brilliantly  lighted  up  ; 
sixteen  billiard  tables  occupy  the  centre,  and  the 
nsual  marble  tables  are  ranged  along  the  walls. 
This  place  is  invariably  crowded  by  theives  and 
their  mistresses,  who  meet  there  every  night  to  di- 
vide the  day's  plunder  or  spend  it^  and  plan  new 
operations.  But  the  place  is  luxurious;  the  walls 
are  adorned  with  frescoes  and  large  mirrors,  and 
for  elegance  the  whole  appearance  of  this  thieves' 
trysting  place  might  vie  with  the  fashionable  cafes 
on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens. 

We  cannot  say  even  approximatively  the  num- 
ber of 

THE  THIEF  POPULATION 

In  Paris,  but  give  valuable  information  as  to  the  nnm- 
ber  of  arrests.  In  1857  no  less  than  20,726  individu- 
las  were  arrested ;  the  arrests  amounted  to  24,593  in 
1862,  to  25,516  in  1865,  to  28,644  in  1866,  to  31,437 
in  1867,  and  to  35,571  in  1869,  to  53,602  in  1874. 
One  very  significant  fact  is  that  the  unscrupulous 
way  in  which  the  Paris  police  arrest  people  on  in- 
adequate grounds,  a  tendency  which  has  been  very 
much  on  the  increase  of  late  years,  may  account 
for  its  rapidly  increasing  progression.  It  does  not 
strike  us  that  the  increase  in  the  number  of  arrests 
is  at  all  conclusive  as  to  a  corresponding  increase 
of  crime.  It  is  admitted  that  out  of  the  53,602 
persons  arrested  in  1874  more  than  half  were  mere 


NOOKS   AND    CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE.  117 

vagrants,  tramps,  and  beggars,  who,  in  England, 
would  have  been  sent  to  the  workhouse,  but  would 
never  have  been  sent  to  gaol;  14,550  were  va- 
grants, and  3,353  were  beggars  ;  8,698  were  thieves; 
1,212  were  arrested  for  swindling;  604  for  breach 
of  trust  and  embezzlement ;  532  for  a  variety  of 
offences  against  morality — ^.  e.,  rape,  indecent  as- 
saults, &c.,  which  is  a  very  small  number  in  such 
a  large  city,  and  which  some  people  are  pleased  to 
call  the  most  immoral  in  the  world ;  729  for  escap- 
ing from  gaol,  the  hulks,  or  a  fixed  residence  ;  18, 
for  manslaughter,  and  26  for  murder.  The  thieves 
and  malefactors  who  operate  in  Paris  are  a  cos- 
mopolitan band;  the  native  element  is  naturally 
enough  largely  represented,  but  there  is  a  plenti- 
ful admixture  of  foreigners — Italians,  Belgians, 
Prussians,  Swiss,  Americans  and  English. 


THE  POLICE  OF  PARIS, 

As  it  now  exists,  was  organized  in  1854,  and  a  great 
increase  then  took  place  in  the  number  oi  sergents-de- 
vilU,  There  are  three  of  them  in  each  of  the  twenty 
four  arrondissements  of  Paris,  or  seventy  two 
brigades  in  all,  each  under  the  orders  of  an  officer 
de  ixdx^  or  divisional  inspector.  Every  day  the  in- 
spector is  bound  to  report  himself  at  the  Prefect- 
ure de  Police,  and  every  four  hours  send  in  a  writ- 
ten report,  which  mostly  contains  nothing  but  the 
regulation  formula — "  Rein  de  nouveaii" — any  mur- 
der, robbery,  fire,  accident  of  any  kind,  is  to  be 
immediately  reported,  so  that  nothing  unusual  oc- 
curs in  Paris  that  is  not  made  known  within  an 
hour's  time  at  the  Prefecture.  The  system  of 
sending  reports  by  messengers,  M.  Duncamp  justly 
points  out,  is  open  to  improvement — he  suggests 
telegraphic  wires  between  the  police-stations  and 
the  Prefecture.  Of  these  sergents-de-ville^  who  are 
all  employed  in  the  quarter  of  the  town  they  live 


118  NOOKS  AND   CORNERS   OF   PARIS   LIFE. 

in,  there  is  a  special  brigade  called  the  central  brig- 
ade, which  consists  of  250  men ;  unlike  the  ordi- 
nary sergents-de-ville,  the  men  comprising  it  have  no 
number  on  their  collar,  but  only  the  arms  of  the 
city.  They  are  very  efficient,  but  their  roughness 
and  brutality  are  so  proverbial  that  the  people  call 
them  les  cognes.  It  was  this  brigade  which  made 
itself  so  conspicuous  during  the  June  riots  by  their 
brutality  towards  harmless  lookers  on.  In  addi- 
tion, there  is  a  brigade  whose  sole  duty  consists  in 
inspecting  all  hotels  and  furnished  lodgings,  from 
the  splendid  caravanseries  in  the  Boulevards  and 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  down  to  the  dingiest  dens  in  the 
back  slums  of  the  Quartier  St.  Marceau.  All  ho- 
tel and  furnished-house  keepers  are  bound  to  enter 
the  names  of  all  their  lodgers  in  a  special  register  ; 
and  these  names  are  daily  forwarded  to  the  Prefec- 
ture of  Police ;  so  that  if  any  of  our  foreign  visi- 
tors are  "  wanted"  at  any  time  during  their  stay  it  is 
not  very  difficult  to  find  them.  A  curious  relic  of  the 
ancien  regime  still  endures — a  special  list  of  all  the  per- 
sons of  note  arriving  in  Paris  is  daily  drawn  up  and 
forwarded  to  the  Prefect  de  Police.  In  1867  a  list  was 
drawn  up  of  all  the  visitors  to  Paris  who  put  up  at 
hotels  and  lodging-houses,  specifying  the  national- 
ity of  each.  There  were  59,367  British  subjects,  4 
Cochin  Chinese,  43,885  Germans,  16  South  Sea 
Islanders,  27,386  Belgians,  33  Georgians,  4,750 
persons  of  rank,  50,335  landowners,  4,289  Roman 
Catholic  priests,  320  journalists,  115  postmasters, 
222  shipowners,  501  men  of  letters,  and  23  rabbis. 
The  total  number  of  visitors  to  Paris  on  that  occa- 
sion was  much  less  than  is  generally  imagined — 
only  582^204,  of  whom  200,346  were  foreigners. 
This,  of  course,  does  not  include  the  persons  who 
put  up  at  friend's  houses,  whom,  of  course,  it  has 
not  been  possible  to  classify.  In  the  month  of 
May  last  there  were  in  Paris  12,628  hotels  and 
furnished  lodgings  under  the  surveillance  of  the 


NOOKS    AND   CORNERS   OF  PARIS   LIFE.  119 

police.     They  were  tenanted  hj  160,370  French- 
men and  33,127  foreigners. 

M.  Chabrol,  the  well  known  rag  picker  of 
Paris,  has  recently  died.  His  name  will  be  remem- 
bered in  Paris,  for  he  has  two  noble  monuments  to 
his  skill  as  an  architect,  and  to  his  memory;  the 
new  library.  Rue  Richelieu,  and  the  restored  Palais 
Royal.  Sylvain  Barnabe  was  the  oldest  rag  picker 
in  Paris,  when  seventy-eight  winters,  bad  brandy, 
and  the  recent  low  temperature,  ended  his  life.  He 
lived  in  a  miserable  closet,  for  which  he  paid  frs.  1,60 
a  month ;  his  bed  was  a  heap  of  rags  laid  steadless 
on  the  floor  ;  he  was  found  dead  in  this  litter.  He 
was  one  of  the  many  people  to  be  found  in  great 
cities  who  have  insensibly  glided  down  society. 
The  descent  is  easier  and  more  unconscious  than 
may  be  thought,  especially  when  a  tincture  of  mis- 
anthropy deadens  the  faller  to  men's  opinions. 
Again,  there  is  at  bottom  of  all  of  us  a  3^earning 
for  our  old  life  of  barbarians,  when  we  roamed  the 
woods  with  no  home  but  a  cave  or  a  hollow  tree, 
no  larder  but  the  brook  or  forest.  It  is  notorious, 
that  after  any  man  or  woman  has  roamed  the 
streets  for  three  years  they  cannot  be  allured  to 
regular  work  again.  The  litter  on  which  they 
couch  jniiy  be  fitter  for  a  beast  than  for  a  human 
being;  their  meals  are  irregular,  scanty,  coarse; 
rain  and  snow  may  chill  them  at  every  step  they 
take — no  matter,  the  freedom,  the  carelessness  of 
their  life,  destroys  the  ting  of  all  these  miseries,  and 
spice  existence  with  a  flavor  which  no  other  career 
possesses.  Once  upon  a  time,  Sylvain  Barnabe  was 
a  fast  man.  His  patrimony  was  considerable.  His 
family  was  good.  Had  some  gypsy  appeared  in 
one  of  those  Toulouse  ball-rooms,  and,  singling  out 
the  most  brilliant  dancer  of  all  the  brilliant  coup- 
les on  the  floor,  exclaimed,  "  There  is  a  future  rag 
picker  !"  how  the  fortune  teller  had  been  hooted! 
But  Sylvain  Barnabe  devoured  capital  as  well  as 


120  NOOKS   AND    CORNERS    OF   PARIS   LIFE. 

revenue,  and  to  his  astonishment  he  found  himself 
at  the  end  of  his  money.  His  back  must  be  cov- 
ered and  his  mouth  filled.  He  found  a  clerkship 
in  an  attorney's  office  in  Tarbes  an  obscure  garris- 
on town.  Had  he  not  been  doomed  to  be  a  rag 
picker,  he  might  have  been  happy,  and  prosper- 
ous, respectable  here.  He  was  stified  by  that  con- 
tracted theatre  of  life.  Fortune  was  to  be  found 
in  Paris.  To  Paris  he  came.  He  clutched  many 
times  at  fortune ;  his  hand  fell  empty  until  he 
caught  a  rag-picker's  hook.  He  held  it  for  fifty 
years,  and  walked  above  50,000  miles  in  the  streets 
of  Paris  searching  for  rags,  waste  paper,  bones, 
and  broken  meat. 


WALBRY.  121 

WALfiRY. 


Since  the  day  that  man's  genius  accomplished 
victory  over  matter,  and  an  "  eighth  wonder"  was 
given  to  the  world,  in  the  shape  of  a  discovery 
called  Daguerreotype,  the  names  of  Mopce  and 
Daguerre  have  descended  to  posterity,  as  the  two 
scientists  who  will  forever  more  deserve  and  obtain 
a  wholesome  share  of  universal  gratitude  for  in- 
ventive progress. 

To  France  belongs  the  honor  of  the  discovery, 
and  she  has  been  able  to  maintain  herself  at  the 
head  of  that  industrial  art — aided  perhaps  some- 
what by  climatic  agents,  yet  in  the  main  due  to  the 
perseverance,  care,  and  skill  which  French  artists 
bring  to  the  execution  of  their  work. 

From  the  first  daguerreotype,  till  the  period  of 
the  more  durable  and  wonderful  photograph,  men 
have  been  busily  striving  for  improvement,  until 
perfection  itself  has  nearly  rewarded  their  increase 
ing  efforts.  It  is  therefore  with  undisguised  pleas- 
ure that  we  proclaim  to  all,  Mr.  Walery,  as  the 
hero  who  has  now  the  laurels.  At  Paris,  in  1867, 
Walery  was  the  first ;  at  Vienna  in  1873,  Walery 
was  again  rewarded  with  the  Grand  Medal,  and  we 
are  not  the  first  who  predict  the  same  results  for 
Philadelphia,  in  1876. 

Again  we  mention  his  name,  with  greater  in- 
terest from  the  fact  that  he  is  the  favorite  of  the 
American  Colony  in  Paris,  this  not  as  a  mere 
advertisement  of  his  own,  but  from  the  amount  of 
patronage  it  bestows  upon  him. 

Mr.  Walery  is  the  latest  star  in  the  brilliant 
constellation  of  Photographic  artists  of  Paris,  as  he 
is  the  foremost  of  those  who  have  made  the  art 
what  it  now  is. 


PAEIS  OUT  OF  TOWI^. 


ON  SUNDAYS  AND  Fi:TE  DAYS 

Paris  may  be  considered  out  of  town.  Those  only 
who  are  doomed  to  live  in  crowded  cities  can  appre- 
ciate the  delight  of  a  few  hours'  run  into  the  country. 
The  eye  wearies  of  architectural  beauties,  however 
beautiful  they  may  be.  The  continual  view  of 
long  lines  of  stone  and  brick  is  fatiguing  to  the 
senses,  and  hence  on  Sunday,  during  the  Summer 
months,  Paris  —  the  gayest  town  residence  in 
Europe,  with  all  its  alluring  vices — is  deserted  for 
the  day  by  half  its  inhabitants.  The  handwork 
of  God,  the  simplicity  of  nature,  and  the  pure  air 
of  the  country  have  irresistible  attractions  for  the 
denizens  of  this  beautiful  hell;  the  environs  are 
overrun  by  thousands.  Visitors  to  the  French  cap- 
ital are  acquainted  with  the  principal  places  within 
reach — Verseilles.  Fontainbleau,  St.  Germain,  St. 
Cloud,  Chantilly,  Compiegne,  Muedon,  &c.  It  is 
needless  to  refer  more  particularly  to  them,  but 
many  leave  Paris  without  having  visited  the  charm- 
ing spots  to  be  found  in  its  immediate  neighbor- 
hood or  any  spots  to  be  found  on  any  of  the  lines 
of  railroads.  One  of  the  most  picturesque  parts 
of  the  country  is  near  Bougival,  although  the 
village  itself  has  become  too  Anglicized.  If  the 
pedestrian  will  mount  the  steep  hill  to  the  right  of 
the  church,  from  time  to  time  he  obtains  a  view 
of  the  entire  valley  of  the  Seine,  with  Bougival  at 


PARIS   OUT   OF   TOWN.  123 

liis  feet  and  the  heights  of  Montmorency  as  a  back- 
ground. The  view  will  amply  repay  the  trouble  of 
the  ascent.  The  villages  of  8t.  Michael,  Les  Gres- 
sets,  and  Montbuisson  are  passed,  and  at  last  we 
arrive,  over  hill  and  dale,  at  Louveciennes  and 
Voisins.  Mountin^c  his/her  the  habitations  become 
less  frequent,  and  the  Seine  disappears  behind 
a  curtain  of  fine  trees  which  border  the  road; 
this  is  the  ancient  park  of  Boissy-d'  ^N'uglas.  The 
hill  side  is  covered  with  vines.  Everywhere  good 
air,  the  perfume  of  the  sweet-smelling  country, 
and  silence — not  silence — for  who  has  not  remarked 
the  indescribable  hum  of  the  country. 

Louveciennes  was  the  ancient  (fomain  of  La 
Dubany,  the  pavillion  of  Louveciennes  was  famous 
in  the  last  century.  St.  Cloud  is  easy  of  access  by 
the  Verseilles  railroad  (rive  droit,)  which  has  a  sta- 
tion at  St.  Cloud,  or  (rive  gauche)  by  descending 
at  Bellevue ;  the  Chemin  de  Fer  Americain,  or  the 
steamboats  from  the  Quai  'd  Orsay.  The  Park  of  St. 
Cloud  joins  the  pretty  village,  Ville  d'  Avray,  which 
is  situated  in  a  picturesque  valley,  and  whence  Ver- 
seilles may  be  reached  on  foot  by  a  delightful  walk 
through  the  wood.  By  this  railroad  several  interest- 
ing spots  can  be  visited,  Les-Vaux-de  Cernay,  form- 
erly an  abbey  of  the  twelfth  century  and  of  which 
several  imposing  vestiges  still  exist.  The  Chateau  of 
Ramabouillet,  celebrated  for  not  having  been  lucky 
for  the  Sovereigns  of  France.  Francois  L  died 
there;  Henri  JIl,  driven  out  of  Paris,  sought  an 
asylum  for  one  night;  Marie-Louise  and  Joseph 
Bonaparte  passed  there  as  fugitives  in  1814 ;  the 
wife  of  Kapoleon  I.  left  it  for  Vienna  as  a  pris- 
oner under  an  Austrian  escort;  Kapoleon  slept 
there  29th  June,  1815,  before  leaving  for  St. 
Helena;  Charles  X.,  flying  from  St.  Cloud,  sought 
a  refuge  there,  and  signed  an  abdication,  which 
however  came  too  late.  In  another  direction  by 
the  Chemin  de  Ter  du  Kord,  the  excursionists  are 


124  PARIS   OUT   OF   TOWN. 

conveyed  to  Chantilly^  celebrated  for  its  lace,  the 
manufacture  of  which  is  nearly  extinct.    The  chat- 
eau and  enormous  stables  are  worthy  of  attention. 
The  forest  is   one   of  the   most  beautiful  in   the 
neighborhood  of  Paris.     Kot  far  from  Chantilly  is 
the  Park  de  Montfontaine,  with  its   picturesque 
lakes;    Ermenonville   and   its   island   of   poplars, 
where  Jean  Jacques  Eosseau  died ;  Senlis,  with  its 
Roman  ruins   and  beautiful  ogivale  church.      The 
neighborhood  of  Paris  is  rich  in  picturesque  and 
charming  views,  disdained  too  much  by  Parisians, 
and  totally  unknown  to  strangers.     For  instance, 
the  almost  island  formed  by  the  Marne  from  Join- 
ville-le  Pont  to*La  Yarenne-Saint-Hilaire.    Scaeux, 
which  has  kept  but  a  fragment  of  the  park  of  the 
sumptuous  chateau,  in  which  the  Duchess  of  Maine 
held  her  court,  but  which  has  still  delightful  sur- 
roundings.      Aunay,    Chatenay,    La   Yallee-aux- 
Loups,  Verrieres,  and  its  thickets,  Bievre  and  its 
delightful   valley,   which    reaches    to   Yerseilles; 
Fontenay,  which  has  nearly  sacrificed   roses   for 
voilets  and  strawberries ;  Argenteuil  on  the  banks 
of  the  Seine,  and  which  has  not  forgotten  Heloise ; 
Sannois  and  Fanconville  on  their  picturesque  hills ; 
Il^anterre,   which   still  shows   the  well   of  Sainte 
Genevieve,  and  preserves  with  Sureness  the  culti- 
vation of  rosieres,  Asnieres  with  its  Canotiers,  can- 
otieres  and  regattas.    The  two  charming  valleys  of 
L'  Yvette  and  the  Bievre,  commencing  at  Palaiseau, 
are  also  worthy  of  a  visit.     Palaiseau  is  popular 
from  having  been  a  spot  where  the  Fie  Voleuse,  in 
complicity  with   a   sexagenarean  magistrate,  sent 
poor  Ninette  to  the  torture.     The  red  brick  house 
at  the  end  of  the  valley,  is  inhabited  by  George 
Sand.     Palaiseau,  before  the  days  of  iron  roads, 
was  one  of  the  principal  places  for  changing  horses 
between  Chartres  and  Paris ;  its  enormous  hotels 
at  that  period  were  rarely  empty.     Between  d'  Or- 
say  and  Chevreuse  there  are  three  villages,  and 


PARIS    OUT    OF   TOWN.  125 

to  the  right  and  left  are  numerous  chateaux  and 
ruins  of  convents.  We  can  only  assure  strangers 
that  on  all  sides  of  Paris  the  environs  are  charm- 
ing, and  although,  to  our  taste,  they  are  on  Sun- 
days too  much  crowded  by  the  Parisians,  we  can- 
not be  surprised  that  all  who  can  do  so  should  take 
advantage  of  their  only  day  of  rest  for  a  few  hours 
ramble  in  the  country.  Railroads  and  steamboats 
have  confered  inestimable  blessings  on  the  denizens 
of  crowded  cities,  by  enabling  them  at  a  trilling 
expense  to  visit  scenes,  which  in  years  gone  by, 
were  only  within  the  reach  of  the  man  of  leisure 
and  the  oppulent. 


PARIS  AT  TABLE. 


Paris  is  renowned  for  its  cuisine,  and  truly  there 
are  no  people  in  the  world  who  live  so  well  in  gen- 
eral, and  who  bestow  so  much  pains,  time  and 
money  for  the  satisfaction  of  their  appetites  as  the 
Parisians.  From  the  Duchess  whose  chocolat  d  la 
creme  de  vanille  is  brought  into  her  silk-tapestried 
boudoir  of  a  morning,  in  a  cup  of  rich  Sevres  por- 
celaine,  set  on  a  silver  salver,  and  who  sips  it  re- 
clining on  a  bed,  the  quilted  silk  cover  of  which  is 
trimmed  with  point  d'Alengon,  worth  many  thou- 
sand of  francs,  to  the  humble  and  cheerful  little 
ouvriere  who  enters  the  cremerie  of  the  Quartier  du 
Caire  and  asks  for  three  sous  worth  of  cafe  au  lait 
and  a  petit  pain ;  from  the  noble  sportsman  who 
spends  a  louis  for  his  dejeuner  at  Bignon's  to  the 
litterateur  decave  who  creeps  stealthily  into  the  din- 
gy traiteur-shop  of  a  dingy  street  in  the  Quartier 
Pigalle  ;  from  the  portly,  bland,  and  smiling  sena- 
tor who,  on  leaving  the  august  assembly  of  which 
he  is  a  member,  steps  in  at  Foyot's  for  a  dozen  of 
Ostende  to  be  washed  down  by  half  a  bottle  of  Sau- 
terne  (1856),  to  the  poor  clerk  who  takes  his  din- 
ner at  the  restaurant  d  prix  fixe,  at  the  outlay  of 
ninety  centimes  ;  from  the  smart  commercial  trav- 
eller, or  man  of  business  who  is  a  habitue  of  Duval's 
to  the  ouvrier  out  of  work,  who  can  just  afford  to 
pay  five  sous  for  an  ordinaire  in  the  mysterious  re- 
gion of  little  California,  away  down  near  the  Bou- 
levard Montrouge  :  Parisians  of  all  classes,  provid- 


PARIS   AT  TABLE.  127 

ed  witli  purses  long  or  short,  will  always  try  to  en- 
joy the  particular  manner  that  they  like  most. 
Therefore  their  continual  anxiety  for  establish- 
ments boasting  of  specialities.  We  have  taken  it  as 
our  task  to  guide  the  reader  through  the  different 
phases  of  Paris  a  table  and  have  opened  before  his 
gaze  many  a  page  of  the  sensational  romance  of  Par- 
is life,  of  the  existence  of  which  he  never  dreamed. 
We  are  in  the  realms  of  mammon,  at  the  corner 
of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  and  the  Rue  Lafitte, 
the  boidevardier  will  point  out  to  the  distinguished 
foreigner  to  whom  he  acts  as  cicerone  a  high,  noble 
looking  house,  the  window  ornamentations  of 
which  still  retain  the  traces  of  the  copious  gilding 
lavished  upon  it  some  years  ago,  but  now  nearly 
effaced  by  the  onsets  of  time  and  tempest.  It  is 
the  maison  Doree  of  world-wide  fame.  The  splen- 
dour of  its  gilding  without,  may  have  been  tar- 
nished, but  enter,  and  the  most  fastidious  expecta- 
tion will  be  satisfied  with  the  gorgeous,  elegant, 
and  yet  simple  decorations  displayed  within.  The 
demands  of  the  palate  will  be  appeased  quite  as 
well.  But  here  as  in  all  the  establishments  we 
shall  describe  in  this  series,  lago's  admonition 
holds  good  :  "  Put  money  in  thy  purse  !"  put 
money  in  your  purse  plenty  of  money,  any  num- 
ber of  the  neat  little  round  medals  bearing  the 
efiigy  of  I^apoleon  III.;  put  them  in  your  purse 
with  the  avowed  intention  of  leaving  a  goodly 
number  of  them  at  the  rose-wood  counter  behind 
which  thrones  the  affable  damede  comptoir^  for  with- 
out such  provision,  and  such  intention  you  had 
better  stop  short  at  the  door.  But  if  you  wish  to 
unveil  the  Eleusian  mysteries  of  gourmandize,  the 
picture  being  framed  with  the  most  exquisite  sur- 
roundings, you  must  enter  the  temple  of  the  cordon- 
bleu,  you  must  ascend  the  carpeted  staircase  which 
leads  to  tae  sumptuous  cabinets  upstairs.  There 
you  will  find  the  walls  set  with  ebony,  encrusted 


128  PARIS   AT   TABLE. 

with  flowers  in  mother-of-pearl  displayed  in  most 
varied   and    delightfully      fantastic  arrangement. 
Sofas  covered  with  rich  velvets,  or  silk  damasks, 
court  your  gaze  and  invite  your  desire  to  recline. 
Curtains  of  costly  materials  soften  the  light  of  the 
day,  whilst  lustres  sparkling  with  a  thousand  cor- 
ruscations  scatter  the  rays  of  their  gas  flames,  when 
night  has  wrapped  the  outer  world,  with  Venetian 
mirrors  reflecting  the   brilliant  scene,  and  adding 
to  the  enchantment  of  the  moment.     The  space  is 
limited ;   the  rooms  seem  made  but  for  a  cozy  Ute 
a  ieie.     Here  you  may  satisfy  your  heart's  longings. 
Let  us  take  an  indiscreet  peep  into  one  of  the  mys- 
terious little  chambers  ;  the  company  there  is  com- 
posed of  two  ladies  and  two  gentlemen.     The  lat- 
ter  are  both  already  of  a  certain  age,  their  hair 
and  whiskers  are  blanching;    they  are  of  distin- 
guished, aristocratic  exterior,  and  the  little  many 
colored  ribbons  in  their  button-holes  denote  them 
as  men  in  high  position.     They  are  smiling  in  ex- 
ultant satisfaction,  but  it  seems  that  the  secret  of 
their  importance  does  not  allow  them  to  go  furth- 
er.    The  ladies,  on  the  contrary,  are  hilarious  to 
the  extreme,  dressed  in  the  finest  of  satin  and  lace, 
and   glittering   with    their   rivieres   of    diamonds. 
They  are  both  elegant,  beautiful  women.    See  them  ■ 
in  the  street,  and  you  might  take  them  to  be  duch- 
esses.    Bat  there  is  a  certain  indescribable  want 
of  polish  in   their  manners  that  betrays  the  want 
of  early  good  breeding,  and  in  spite  of  that  superfi- 
cially attractive  conversation,  the  man  accustomed 
to  high  society  would  take  them  directly  for  what 
they  are — namely  actresses  in  one  of  the  smaller 
theatres.     They  have  united   their   efforts   in   the 
production  of  the  77i6nu  and  it  does  credit  to  them, 
provided  that  the  two  gentlemen  do  not  object  to 
the  outlay  of  three  or  four  of  those  neatly-printed 
scraps  of  paper  bearing  the  signature  of  Monsieur 
Soleil.     Their  order  runs  as  follows. 


PARIS   AT   TABLE.  129 

Soupe  Amtlie  a  la  bisque. 

Pate  de  foie  gras,  caviar. 

Clos  Vougeot. 

Sole  Normande.    Pommes  Chateau. 

Chateau  cf  Tquem. 

Riz  de  veau    Campignons. 

Mauviettes  a  la  jardiniere. 

Petits  pois  a  la  Brisse. 

Chateau  Lafitte.  (\Sl\). 

Perdrix  truffe  Magenta. 

Tokay. 

Chateaubriand  a  la  Regence. 

Salade  a  la  Riisse. 

Johannisberg . 

Riz  glace  Reine  Margot.    Beignets  d'  ananas. 

Lachrymae  Christi  {rouge). 

Meringues  Creme  Vanille. 

Cafe. 

In  the  large  salon  downstairs  a  number  of  well 
dressed  gentlemen,  belonging  to  the  higher  ranks 
of  society,  are  sitting  quietly  over  their  dinners. 
The  conversation  rises  not  much  above  a  whisper, 
and  the  dishes  though  chosen  after  reflection,  and 
with  little  regard  to  cost,  are  not  as  varied  as  the 
bill  of  fare  we  have  just  described.  Filet  chateau, 
coielette  en  papillotles,  turhot  aux  cdpres  and  other 
'meis  are  the  most  often  demanded.  The  soup  in 
vogue  is  the  a  la  Colbert.  The  most  interesting 
feature  is  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  wines  con- 
sumed, as  very  often  the  price  of  the  latter  ex- 
ceeds that  of  the  dishes  by  more  than  double. 
On  the  line  of  Boulevards  from  the  Madeleine  to 
the  Rue  Poissonniere,  restaurants  of  the  highest  or- 
der, are  as  plentiful  as  blackberries  among  the  bush- 
es in  summer.  The  members  of  the  sporting  com- 
munity prefer  the  Cafe  Anglais  renowned  for  its  de- 
licious salmon.  There  is  especially  one  room  in  this 
establishment  that  can  boast  of  a  more  than  Euro- 
pean fame.     What  scenes,  both  gay  and  serious, 


130  PAHIS  AT  TABLE. 

have  taken  place  in  the  "  Grand  16  f^  Farewell  din- 
ners given  by  parting  friends,  congratulatory  din- 
nerslavished  on  celebrated  authors  and  artists,  29e^^Y.5 
soiipers  in  honor  of  some  ladies  d  let  mode,  and  even 
solemn  festivities  between  diplomatists  united  in 
Paris,  when  the  fate  of  Europe  hung  in  the  balance, 
Among  the  restaurants  that  are  privileged  to  keep 
open  all  night,  Brebant  claims  the  lion's  share  of 
fashionable  and  semi-fashionable  customers.  Men 
of  letters  and  journalists  abound;  and  many  a  bon~ 
mot  takes  Yachette's  salon  as  its  birth-place,  many 
a  calembour  flashes  from  table  to  table.  The  ladies 
present  belong  mostly  to  that  fashionable,  though 
equivocal  class  known  as  the  Demi-monde.  Unre- 
strained hilarity  reigns  there  generally ;  the  room 
rings,  sometimes,  with  laughter  and  mirth.  On 
the  nights  of  the  bals-masques  at  the  Opera,  espec- 
ially, Brebant's  salons  and  cabinets  are  crowded  with 
the  elegants  of  the  Capital,  who  desire  to  appease 
the  cravings  of  their  appetite  after  having  amused 
themselves  for  an  hour  or  so  at  the  foyer  in  the  Rue 
le  Pelletier.  A  gayer  or  livelier  scene  could  hard- 
ly be  witnessed  than  the  spectacle  offered  at  the 
staircase  of  this  celebrated  restaurant,  on  the 
nights,  or  better  to  say,  mornings  in  question.  A 
continuous  stream  of  maskers,  in  the  most  fantas- 
tical costumes,  with  a  strong  admixture  of  domi- 
noes and  habits  swarm  to  and  from  the  supper- 
rooms,  waiters  rush  about  in  frantic  excitement, 
and  the  whole  is  climaxed  by  the  never  ceasing 
shouts  of  the  cab  men,  as  they  deposit  or  take  up 
their  fares.  The  renommi  of  the  Palais-Roy  ale  be- 
longs by  right  of  tradition  to  Vefour.  This 
name  is  as  well  known  on  the  banks  of  the  Bos- 
phorus  as  on  those  of  the  IN'eva  and  the  Manzana- 
res.  It  is  the  Elysium  of  foreign  gourmands.  The 
specialiti  in  which  Vefour  has  no  rival  in  his  sole 
normande.  An  elegant  assembly  generally  throngs 
the  salo:is  at  meal  times,  for  this  is  one  of  the  res- 


PAKIS   AT  TABLE.  131 

taurants  where  ladies  (in  the  proper  acceptation  of 
the  term)  can  enter  without  fearing  to  encounter 
doubtful  members  of  their  sex.  Foyot's  is  the  re- 
sort of  officials  of  the  Senate  and  even  of  members 
of  that  distinguished  body  itself.  This  house  has 
no  external,  no  interior  display,  no  gorgeous  deco- 
rations, no  mise-en-scene.  But  go  there  about  six 
o'clock  during  session-time  and  you  will  find  quite 
a  number  of  exceedingly  respectable  looking  gen- 
tlemen, mostly  wearing  red  ribbons  in  their  button 
holes,  frequenting  these  modest  salons,  an  exquisite 
cuisine  amply  replacing  the  want  of  ornamentation. 
Foyot  retains  to  this  day  the  supremacy  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  Seine,  in  spite  of  a  very  redoubtable 
rival— Magny — who  in  the  humble  neighborhood 
of  the  Rue  Contrescarpe  Dauphin,  has  been  able 
to  gain  and  to  keep  the  custom  of  a  large  number 
of  wealthy  inhabitants  of  the  Quartier  St.  Germain. 
We  might  mention  many  other  establishments  of 
the  same  order,  but  our  object  being  to  simply 
give  "sketches/  not  elaborate  descriptions,  we 
must  be  content  with  this  short  stroll  "  Among 
Fashionables.''^ 


PARIS  ASLEEP. 


HUSH  !  PARIS  HAS  GONE  TO  REST. 

The  mighty  city  sleeps  after  the  turmoil  and  ex- 
citement of  the  day.  Men  whose  brains  have 
been  hard  at  work  during  long  hours,  plotting  and 
planning  their  different  moves  in  the  great  game 
of  life,  have  now  laid  their  heads  upon  their  pil- 
lows to  sleep.  Perhaps  to  dream !  Yes,  to  dream 
quite  as  much  may  be  as  the  little  fleuriste  who  has 
been  making  artificial  roses  and  daises  from  six  in 
the  morning  till  midnight.  Poor  little  thing !  car- 
olling over  her  toil,  she  passed  the  weary  hours 
till  her  eyelids  drooped,  and  now  her  pretty  head 
is  lying  like  a  rose-bud  among  the  leaves  with 
which  her  work-table  is  strewn.  Without,  the  sky 
is  overcast,  a  biting  north  wind  blows.  We  are  in 
the  month  of  December.  The  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, lies  in  its  stillness  with  the  Obelisk  of  Lux- 
or standing  up  in  all  its  loneliness  in  the  centre  of 
stony  allegories  intended  to  represent  the  princi- 
pal cities  of  sunny  France.  Its  weird  hieroglyph- 
ics are  but  half  visible  to  view  by  the  yellow 
light  of  the  lamps  around.  The  Place  Yendome 
looks  brilliant  with  the  lights  of  the  Rue  Castig- 
lione  as  background ;  it  always  looks  brilliant  at 
night  as  if  to  make  up,  for  its  sad  aspect  by  day. 
The  long  chains  of  gas-lights  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
is  throwing  a  cold  glare  upon  the  drearily  uniform 
white  arcades,  showing  us  the  forms  of  hasty  or 


PARIS   ASLEEP.  133 

furtive  pedestrians  who  are  in  the  act  of  going 
home.  The  sentinels  at  the  Louvre  gates  are  shel- 
terino^  themselves  from  the  chill  nis^ht  breeze  in 
their  sentrj-boxes;  the  sergeants-de-ville  are  pacing 
up  and  down  in  a  state  of  half  drowsy  contempla- 
tiveness.  A  figure  passes ;  you  can  hardly  dis- 
cern to  which  sex  it  belono;:3,  it  carries  a  lars^e 
basket  on  its  back,  a  little  lantern  held  a  few  inches 
from  the  ground,  throws  its  flickering  light  on  the 
road.  It  is  the  Chiffonier  plying  his  crook,  and 
seeking  from  the  midst  of  the  heterogenuous  heaps 
in  the  gutters  whatever  may  yet  be  useful  to  some 
portion  of  humanity.  He  is  wonderful  in  his  im- 
perturbable calmness  when  following  his  pursuit. 
JS'o  disturbance,  no  accident  can  withdraw  his  gaze 
from  the  tumuli  that  he  considers  his  own  special 
property.  He  does  not  ask  for  treasures — a  brok- 
en bottle,  a  bone,  a  nail,  prove  very  acceptable- 
bits  of  paper,  and  smashed  crockery  are  not  de- 
spised but  rags  and  pieces  of  coal  are  the  tit-bits 
picked  up  by  the  aid  of  the  hook  that  he  handles 
with  wonderful  agility,  and  throws  pell-mell  into 
the  hospitable  basket,  where  they  await  being  as- 
sorted on  arrival  at  some  hovel  in  the  Qaartier 
Moaffetard  or  Picpiis. 

Two  o'clock  has  struck  at  St.  Germain  I'Auxer- 
rois.  We  wend  our  way  toward  the  Boulevard 
Montmartre,  that  no  longer  presents  the  lively  and 
brilliant  aspect  of  a  few  hours  ago.  The  Cafes  are 
closed,  and  only  a  few  favoured  restaurants  receive 
customers  in  their  salons  and  cabinets  up  stairs. 
Some  gaily  dressed  women  ascend  Brebaut's  stair- 
case, who,  having  spent  their  own  fortunes,  are 
now  making  way  with  those  of  other  people. 
Sounds  of  boisterous  hilarity  are  proceeding  from 
the  open  window  of  one  of  these  half  cozy,  half 
voluptuous  rooms;  the  breeze  carries  the  echoes 
of  the  mirth  and  laughter  of  the  blaze  company 
above  to  the  ears  of  three  or  four  men  who  crouch 


134  PARIS    ASLEEP. 

on  tlie  benches  below,  shivering  with  cold.  These 
are  the  true  types  of  the  miserables.  Probably 
they  have  not  dined  the  day  before,  perhaps  not 
even  breakfasted,  and  now  they  are  staring  with 
eyes  rendered  ghastly  by  hunger,  at  the  windows 
of  the  brilhantly  illuminated  saloons,  where  they 
know  men  squander  gold  whilst  they  are  starving 
for  the  want  of  a  few  coppers.  One  of  them  es- 
pecially, paler,  thinner,  more  haggard,  and  evi- 
dently weaker  than  the  rest,  in  a  thin  grey  blouse, 
has  dropped  asleep  on  the  Boulevard  bench.  Two 
Sergents-de-  Ville  are  passing  their  rounds,  and  with 
a  rough  ''  On  ne  dort  pas  a  la  belle  etoile,"  the 
sleeper  is  awakened.  He  has  no  right  to  sleep  in 
the  street.  Two  men  descend  just  then  from  the 
supper  rooms.  They  have  partaken  a  copious 
meal,  where  champagne  flowed  freely.  They  are 
in  good  humor,  and  generously  disposed ;  they 
interfere  for  the  poor  devil  whom  the  policemen 
are  about  to  lock  up  as  a  vagabond.  They  give 
him  a  handful  of  small  coin  and  send  him  away. 
He  cannot  even  stammer  a  word  of  thanks,  but  he 
weeps  tears  of  gratitude.  His  benefactors  look 
smilingly  after  him,  and  one  of  them  says  to  the 
other,  "  I  had  kept  it  to  buy  gloves  for  Sinette." 
She'll  have  to  go  without  them  now,  "  tant  pis  pour 
elk  "  replies  the  other  in  a  languid,  sleepy  drawl, 
and  they  jump  into  a  cab  and  drive  off.  Perhaps 
do  they  think  that  money  thrown  away  !  At  that 
moment  the  rustling  of  a  silk  dress  is  heard  as  it 
sweeps  along  the  pavement,  the  click  of  high  me- 
talic  heels  resounds  upon  the  asphalt,  and  one  of 
the  belated  habituees  of  the  Casino  walks  up,  drag- 
ging her  embroidered  skirts  through  the  dirt  and 
mud.  It  is  iTinette,  she  gives  a  hasty  glance  at 
the  windows  above  her,  but  her  eyes  not  meeting 
the  ligure  of  an  acquaintance,  she  waits  a  few  sec- 
onds, and  then  turns  up  the  Rue  du  Faubourg 
Montmartre.     Poor  girl,  she  will  have  to  go  with- 


PARIS  ASLEEP.  135 

out  new  gloves  to  keep  that  vagabond  from  starv- 
ing.   Poor  girl !    It  is  now  four  o'clock.     A  feeble 
ray  of  daylight  pierces  painfully  through  the  dark 
threatning  clouds  that  are  gradually  being  border- 
ed with  lighter  tints.     Descending  the  Rue  Yivi- 
vienne,  we  meet  a  number  of  men  and  women 
standing  in  line  on  the  sidewalk.     The  men  wear 
blouses  and  glazed  caps  with  brass  numbers.     The 
women's  attire  is  of  the  rudest  simplicity,  a  hand- 
kerchief, generally  serving  as  head-gear.    All  have 
wooden  shoes  on  their  feet,  and  brooms  in  their 
hands.      They   belong  to   the   army   of    sweepers 
whose  task  it  is  to  perform  the  toilette  of  the  lono- 
line  of  streets  before  daylight,  so  that  Paris  may 
look  bright  and  clean  with  the  rising  sun.    The  ma- 
jority among  them  are  Germans,  mostly  Hessians, 
but  Alsace  sends  also  a  goodly  contingent.     They 
are  just  passing  the  inspection  of  the  superintend- 
ant  of  their  section.     He  calls  the  name  of  each, 
who  directly  walks  towards  the  part  of  the  street  as- 
signed to  him  and  begins  his  labor.    A  few  minutes 
afterward  the  work  of  clearing  the  streets  is  be- 
gun  throughout   the   vast   city,   and  even  in  the 
midst  of  winter,  when  the  Parisian   awakes,  the 
trottoirs  will  be  clean  and  roads  passable  for  ladies. 
It  is  near  five  o'clock.     At  the  Halles  Centralks, 
the  busy  movement  has  commenced ;  the  carts  of 
the  market  gardeners  throng  the  adjoining  streets; 
their  merchandise  is  piled  on  the  foot  walks  and  in 
the  road  ways.     Little  flickering  oil  lamps  throw  a 
feeble  light  on  the  heaps  of  cabbages,  cauliflowers, 
etc.,  destined  to  assist  in  feeding  the  Ogre  Paris 
during  the  ensuing  day.      In  the  pavilion  on  the 
side  of  the  Church  St.  Eustache,  the  butchers  are 
up  and  doing.     All  around  the  crowded  mart  the 
wine  and  liquor  shops  are  carrying  on  a  thriving 
trade,  and  even  one  or  two  semi-fashionable  restau- 
rants flaunt  their  lights  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  stern  humble  life.     The  last  feature  of  "  Paris 


136  PARIS  ASLEEP. 

that  never  sleeps"  are  a  few  fashionably  dressed 
men  and  women  who  are  picking  their  way 
through  the  accumulation  of  vegetables,  on  their 
road  to  take  a  supper  at  one  of  the  last  named 
establishments. 


TWENTY  FOUR  HOURS  IN  LONDON. 

Twenty-four  hours,  can  be  pleasantly  occupied 
in  seeing  some  of  the  principal  sights  of  London, 
although,  if  the  time  can  be  spared,  one  or  even  two 
weeks  could  be  devoted  to  this  object. 

The  City  of  London  reaches  from  Temple 
Bar  to  a  short  distance  beyond  Cornhill.  The 
Lord  Mayor's  pageant  celebrating  the  election, 
takes  place  on  the  9th  November  proceeding  from 
Guildhall,  to  Westminister,  and  returning  to  the 
Mansion  House.  It  has  been  much  changed  of  late 
years,  and  now  proceeds  along  the  Thames  Em- 
bankment to  avoid  interference  with  the  traffic  of 
the  streets.  All  the  cabinet  ministers  and  judges 
take  part  in  a  grand  banquet  which  celebrates  the 
election  in  the  evening.  The  cost  of  this  enter- 
tainment, together  with  the  state  the  Lord  Mayor 
Jias  to  maintain,  amount  to  £8,000,  the  amount 
allowed  for  his  yearly  expenses.  A  special  body 
of  police  and  of  military  are  under  civic  jurisdic- 
tion. 

THE  TOWER  OF  LOIITDON 

Is  situated  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Thames,  about 
half  a  mile  below  London  Bridge.  It  is  approached, 
in  a  nearly  straight  line,  by  Eastcheap  and  Great 
Tower  Street,  and  by  Lower  Thames  Street,  the 
latter  running  alongside  the  river,  and  passing  be- 
neath the  roadway  of  London  Bridge,  communica- 
tion being  effected  by  a  flight  of  stone  steps.  Om- 
nibuses from  Charing  Cross  and  the  West  end  ap- 


138  TWENTY-FOUR   HOURS   IN   LONDON. 

proacli  it  in  Fenchurcli  Street  or  King  William 
Street,  City.  It  is  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
Queen's  Hotel,  Cork  Street,  Bond  Street.  The 
railway  from  Charing  Cross  Station  can  be  taken 
to  London  Bridge,  or  from  the  Cannon  Street  Sta- 
tion, which  is  about  a  mile  from  the  Tower.  The 
jewel  office,  in  which  the  crowns  and  other  regalia 
used  at  coronations  are  kept  is  in  the  ancient  l^or- 
man  chapel  in  the  White  Tower,  the  prisons  of  Sir 
Walter  Ealeigh  and  other  historical  personages,  the 
spot  on  which  Lady  Jane  Grey  and  others  were 
beheaded,  &c.j  fee  Is. 

THAMES  TUNNEL. 

The  Thames  Tunnel  has  been  lately  brought  into 
more  active  use  than  formerly  by  the  East  London 
Railway  Company,  never  having  been  extensively 
used  as  a  mere  foot  passage  under  the  river.  It  was 
commenced  by  Brunei  in  1825,  and  after  the  water 
had  broken  in  on  various  occasions  it  was  opened 
in  1843.  The  cost  was  £  468,000.  It  consisted  of 
two  archways,  the  roof  being  fifteen  feet  below 
the  bottom  of  the  river.  It  may  be  reached  by 
steamboats  from  London  Bridge  at  frequent  inter- 
vals ;  there  is  a  pier  called  the  Thames  Tunnel 
Pier. 

WESTMINISTER  ABBEY. 

Services  on  Sundays  at  10  a.  m.  and  3  P.  m.;  on 
the  week  days  at  7.45  and  10  A.  m.  and  3  p.  m. 
Full  chanting.  Sermons  on  Sundays.  Cab  fare 
from  the  Queen's  Hotel,  Cork  Street,  Bond  Street, 
Is.  Omnibuses  may  be  taken  in  Regent  Street 
for  Westminister ;  or  an  agreeable  walk  maybe 
had  by  descending  St.  James'  Street,  and  entering 
St.  James's  Park  by  the  Palace,  and  then  crossing  it, 
going  to  the  left  of  the  piece  of  ornamental  water. 

SOUTH  KENSINGTON  MUSEUM 
Of  pictures,  objects  of  art  and  vertu,  science,  util- 
ity, &c.,  &c.     Open  free  on  Mondays,  Tuesdays, 


TWENTY-FOUR   HOURS   IN   LONDON.  139 

and  Saturdays,  from  10  a.m.  to  10  p.m.  Open  on 
Wednesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Fridays  from  10  a.m. 
to  4,  5,  or  6  p.m.,  according  to  the  time  of  year,  on 
payment  of  6d.  The  refreshment  rooms  are  ex- 
cellent, particularly  recommended  for  those  who 
like  a  hot,  nice  chop  or  steak.  It  is  cooked  in  the 
room  on  a  large  gridiron.  The  Museum  is  within  a 
few  minutes'  walk  of  the  South  Kensington  Sta- 
tion of  the  Undergound,  or.  Metropolitan  Railway. 
Omnibuses  can  also  be  taken  to  it  from  Piccadilly. 
It  is  near  to  the  district  of  Brompton.  It  is  not  far 
from  the  Queen's  Hotel,  Cork  Street,  Bond  Street. 
JUDGE  AND  JURY, 

This  caricature  of  an  English  Law  Court,  is  not 
what  it  was  when  old  chief  Baron  Kicholson  occu- 
pied the  seat  of  Justice ;  but  the  cases  brought  be- 
fore the  Court  have  usually  less  breadth  in  their  de- 
tails. It  is  to  be  found  in  Leicester  Square,  near 
to  the  Alhambra.  Open  every  evening. 
BRITISH  MUSEUM. 

Short  distance  from  Oxford  Circus  towards  the 
City.  Walk  to  Hart  Street,  then  turn  to  the  left, 
and  you  will  come  upon  the  Museum.  This  con- 
tains the  largest  collection  of  curiosities,  books, 
and  works  of  art  in  the  world, — casts  of  the  most 
celebrated  statues,  treasures  of  the  ancient  world, 
sculptures,  marbles,  bronzes,  vases,  mouldings, 
models,  mummy-cases,  stuffed  animals  of  all  va- 
rieties and  dimensions,  &c.  The  library  contains 
800,000  volumes.  Here  may  also  be  seen,  among 
quaint  old  deeds,  of  historic  interest,  a  fac-simile 
of  Magna-Charta,  as  signed  by  King  John  and  the 
barons.  The  great  reading-room  of  the  Museum, 
with  access  to  every  book  published  in  the  United 
Kingdom,  and  a  choice  collection  of  foreign  works 
as  well,  is  free  to  any  one  who  applies  to  the 
chief  librarian,  endorsing  his  request  with  the 
recommendation  of  two  householders.     This  read- 


140  TWENTY-rOITR   HOURS   IN   LONDON. 

ing-room  is  a  huge  circular  building,  lighted  from 
above,  and  surrounded  by  shelves,  containing 
works  of  reference  in  all  the  chief  European  lan- 
guages. The  readers  are  further  supplied  with 
comfortable  chairs,  on  castors;  desks,  with  ar- 
rangements to  support  their  books;  pens,  ink,  and 
blotting-paper.  The  British  Museum  also  contains 
the  cetebrated  Nineveh  marbles,  the  Elgin  mar- 
bles, the  Harleian  MSS.,  the  Cottonian  Library,  a 
splendid  collection  of  prints,  and  an  unrivalled  cab- 
inet of  coins.  The  Museum  is  free  to  the  public 
,on  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Friday,  from  10  to 
4  or  6  o'clock,  according  to  the  season ;  and  at 
Christmas,  Easter,  or  Whitsuntide  it  is  open  all 
the  week. 

ZOOLOGICAL  GARDENS,  REGENT'S  PARK. 

Well  stocked  with  various  species  of  animals. 
Admission  Is.,  except  on  Mondays,  when  it  is  6d. 
Situated  at  the  northern  end  of  Regent's  Park,  and 
within  short  distance  of  the  Queen's  Hotel,  Cork 
Street,  Bond  Street.  The  park  can  be  entered 
from  the  upper  end  of  Portland  Place,  being  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  upper  end  of  Regent  Street,  and  a 
pleasant  walk,  through  a  shady  avenue,  about  a 
mile  in  length  which  conducts  to  the  gardens. 

DOCKS. 

The  docks  of  London — Situated  down  the  river, 
below  the  Tower  of  London,  and  about  four  miles 
fronr.  Charing  Cross.  The  first  is  iS'i^.  Katharine's 
Dock,  covering  an  area  of  24  acres,  with  warehouses 
containing  130,000  tons  of  goods,  mostly  the  pro- 
duce of  America  and  the  Mediterranean.  The 
entrance  to  this  dock  is  nearly  opposite  the  Mint. 
By  walking  eastward  along  the  quay  you  come  to 
the  London  Docks  which  contain  90  acres,  also  con- 
taining the  celebrated  depots  of  wines  and  tobacco. 
Seventy-five  thousand  pipes  of  wine  and  spirits 
and   thirty   thousand  hogsheads  of  tobacco   can 


TWENTY  FOUR   HOURS   IN   LONDON.  141 

be  easily  stored  away  in  these  cellars.  A  visiting 
order  can  be  obtained  by  sendins^  a  civil  note  and 
a  card  to  the  Dock  Secretary,  New  Bank  Build- 
ings, London  Docks,  E.G.;  a  tasting-order  can  be 
procured  from  some  wine-dealer  in  the  City.  The 
Queen's  Tobacco-pipe  can  be  inspected  :  it  is  a  large 
kiln,  where  immense  quantities  of  damaged  tobac- 
co are  burned,  as  not  worth  paying  duty  upon.  A 
mile  further  down  the  river  is  the  Eastern  Dock,  in 
which  one  vault  alone  covers  nine  acres.  The 
Commercial  Docks  are  on  other  side  of  the  Thames 
opposite  Limehouse :  these  cover  75  acres,  of 
which  nearly  65  are  water.  The  Victoria  Docks 
are  200  acres  in  extent;  and  still  further  are  the 
^ast  India  and  West  India  Docks  with  about  300 
acres,  at  the  extreme  east  of  London,  upon  what  is 
called  the  Isle  of  Dogs. 

THE  MINT. 

Is  situated  on  Little  Tower  Hill,  near  the  Tow- 
er of  London.     Hours  from  10  to  4. 

THE  MONEY. 

The  Various  coins,  and  their  value  in  American 
currency  are  as  follows : — 

The  Sovereign  is  the  standard  gold  coin,  value  20 
shillings  or  one  pound  sterling — £  1.  Os.  Od.  British 
currency,  or  $  4.84  in  American  money  (gold). 

The  Gninea  is  21  shillings,  or  about  equivalent 
to  our  f  5  gold  piece. 

The  JSalf-Sovereign  is  the  next  smallest  gold  coin, 
and  represents  10  shillings  silver,  or  a  half  pound, 
equivalent  in  American  money  to  $  2.42  gold. 

The  Half -Crown  is  2  shillings  and  sixpence  ster- 
ling. 

The  Shilling  is  about  the  value  of  our  25  cents, 
or  quarter  dollar. 

Sixpence.     Half  the  above. 

Fourpence.     When  worn  smooth  the  fourpenny 


142  TWENTY-FOUR   HOURS   IN   LONDON. 

piece  can  be  distinguished  from  the  threepenny 
piece  by  having  a  milled  edge. 

One  Penny ^  or  two  cents. 

Halfpenny.     Half  of  the  above. 

Bank  of  England  Notes  are  issued  in  denomina- 
tions of  £  5,  £  10,  £  20,  £  50,  £  100,  £  500,  £  1,000. 
There  may  be  some  of  a  higher  denomination,  but 
none  in  our  possession  at  the  present  v^riting. 
When  changing  notes,  or  using  them  in  purchase, 
if  over  £  5,  store  keepers  oftentimes  require  them 
to  be  endorsed,  or  the  name  and  address  written 
on  the  back  by  the  party  tendering  the  note.  This 
is  a  guard  against  stolen  or  lost  notes. 


PLACES  OF  INTEREST 

IN 

PARIS  and  the  ENYIRONS. 


Iiouvre  (The  museum  and  Galleries) . — Opposite  the  Hotel 
du  Louvre  (Rue  de  Rivoli)  open  every  day  from  10  a.m.  to 
4  p.  m. 

Luxembourg,  Palace  of.— Across  the  Seine,  near  the 
Odeon.  The  Gallery  of  Paintings  open  free  every  day  ex- 
cept Monday,  from  10  a.  m.  to  4  p.  m. 

Notre-Dame,  Cathedral  of.— To  visit  the  Sacristy  and 
Towers,  fee,  50  c.    High  Mass  every  Sunday  at  10  a.  m. 

Sainte-Chapelle,  La.— Palais  de  Justice.  By  ticket  from 
M.  le  Ministre  des  Beaux- Arts. 

Pantheon,  The.— Rue  Soufflot.  Across  the  river  in  Latin 
quarter.  Admission  free.  Artists  have  begun  to  work  up- 
on this  edifice  the  scheme  is  to  make  its  interior,  the  most 
splendid  memorial  in  Paris  of  the  painting  and  sculpture 
of  1870.  To  view  the  Vaults  and  Dome,  a  small  fee  is  ex- 
pected. 

Pere-Lachaise,  Cemetery  of.— Boulevard  de  Fontarabie. 
Omnibus  from  the  Madeleine,  with  a  correspondence  tick- 
et for  Charonne. 

Prison  de  la  Conciergerie.— Palais  de  Justice.  Apply 
by  letter  for  ticket. 

Hotel  des  Invalides. — Near  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
Daily  from  11  a.m.  to  half-past  3  p.m.     Small  fee. 

Fontainebleau.  —  Palace  shewn  daily,  without  tickets, 
from  10  a.m.  to  4  p.m.  About  two  hours  by  rail  from  the 
Lyons  Railway  depot,  boulevard  Mazas. 

Greek  Church,  The  (Russian).— Rue  de  la  Croix,  near  the 
Park  Monceaux.  Omnibus  from  the  Madeleine.  Open  to 
the  public  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays  and  Sundays.  Ser- 
vices at  11  a.m. 

Jardin  d'Acclimatation.  —On  the  right  of  the  principal 
entrance  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  avenue  de  ITmperatrice. 
Open  daily.     Admission  1  fr. 


144  PLACES   OF   INTEREST. 

Saint-Cloud  (Ruins  of  the  Palace).— By  rail,  from  the 
Western  Railway  depot  (trains  every  hour,  at  30  minutes 
past  the  hour),  rue  Saint-Lazare.  By  steamboat,  from  the 
pont  Royal,  behind  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  or  Horse 
Railway,  from  Place  de  la  Concorde. 

Saint-Denis,  Cathedral  of.— About  five  miles  from  Par- 
is. Fee  to  the  guide.  By  rail  from  the  Northern  Rail- 
way depot  ;   trains  every  hour. 

Saint-Germain-en-Laye  (Palace,  Church  and  Terrace) — 
One  hour  by  rail  from  the  Western  Station,  rue  Saint-Laz- 
are ;  trains  every  hour.  Musee  Gallo-Romain  open  from 
11  a.m.  to  5  p.  m. 

Sevres  (Porcelain  Manufactory). —  Park  of  Saint-Cloud. 
Show-rooms  open  free  on  Thursday  only  ;  on  other  days 
and  to  view  the  workshops  ,  by  ticket  from  M.  le  Direc- 
teur.  By  rail  or  steamboat  (see  Saint-Cloud),  or  by  omni- 
bus from  the  Palais-Royal. 

Hotel  des  Monnaies  (The  Mint).— The  Museum  open 
free  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  from  12  a.m.  to  3  p.  m.  To 
visit  the  work-shops,  apply  by  letter  for  tickets  to  M.  le 
President  de  la  Commission  des  Monnaies. 

Palais  de  I'lndustrie,  Champs-Ely  sees. — Exhibition  of  Al- 
gerian and  Colonial  produce,  from  12  to  5.  Entrance  by 
the  gate  13. 

Observatory,  The.— Near  the  Luxembourg.  By  ticket 
from  M.  le  Directeur  de  I'Observatoire. 

Catacombs,  The. — Principal  entrance,  barriere  d'Enfer. 
Ticket  must  be  applied  for.  Visible  two  or  three  times  a 
year  only. 

Compiegne. — Palace  shown  daily,  without  ticket,  from  10 
a.m  .  to  4  p.m.  About  two  hours  by  rail  from  the  North- 
ern Railway  station,  place  Roubaix. 

Conservatoire  des  Arts  et  Metiers.— Museum  of  ancient 
and  modern  machinery.  Models  of  Naval  architecture 
&c.,  well  worth  a  visit.  Rue  Saint-Martin,  292.  Open  free 
on  Thursdays  and  Sundays,  frpm  10  to  4.  Other  days,  ad- 
mission 1  fr. 

Engliein-les-Bains. — Mineral  Bathing  Establishment. 
Fi"om  Northern  Railway,  place  Roubaix ;  trains  every  hour, 
at  55  min.  past  the  hour. 

Expiatory  Chapel  (Chapelle  Expiatoire). — Rue  de  1' Ar- 
cade.   Fee.    Mass  at  9  a.m.  every  day. 

Thermes,  Place  of  the,  and  H^tel  Cluny  across  the 
Seine,  a  perfect  labarynth  of  curiosities,  the  collection  of 
hundreds  of  years.  ^Museum  of  Antiquities). — Open  daily, 
Mondays  excepted,  from  11  to  4  p.m.  By  passport  or  tick- 
et from  M.  le  Directeur  du  Musee  des  Thermes. 

Tomb  of  Napoleon,  Hotel  des  Invalids. — Entrance  place 
Vauban.  Fee.  Open  on  Monday  and  Thursday  until  3 
p.m. 

Versailles  (Palace,  Gardens.  The  Trianons,  Swiss  Village, 
etc.).— By  rail  from  the  Western  Railway  depot,  rue  Saint- 


PLACES   OF  INTEREST.  145 

Lazare,  or  Montparnasse ;  tramway  from  ruins  of  the  Pal- 
ais du  Louvre.  The  water  works  are  the  most  extensive 
in  the  world,  during  the  empire,  exhibitions  were  given  up- 
on the  visits  of  royalty,  and  are  now  continued  upon  great 
occasions;  cost  of  each  one  of  these  exhibitions  exceeding 
$  20,000.  The  collections  of  paintings  in  the  Palace  is  ex- 
ceedingly fine.  The  Grand  Trianon,  open  Sunday,  Tues- 
day and  Thursday,  from  12  to  4. 

Vincennes  (Fort,  Dungeon,  etc.). — Visible  on  Saturdays  by 
ticket  from  Me  le  Commandant  de  TArtillerie,  1st  arron- 
dissement,  Vincennes. 

Morgue. — Open  every  day.    At  the  back  of  Notre-Dame. 

For  full  particulars,  see  Harper's  Handbook  for  Europe 
AND  THE  East,  by  W.  Pembroke  Fetridge.  The  only  Com- 
plete Guide  published  in  English.  Revised  every  year  and 
for  sale  in  the  book  stores. 


THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE 

(court  house.) 

Was  such  a  monument  to  the  Artists  of  1830,  and  is  to  be 
restored  so  faithfully,  that  it  will,  despite  La  Commune's 
torch,  continue  to  exhibit  and  commemorate  their  skill. 


MUSEUMS. 

Museum  of  the  Louvre.— Open  every  day  except  Monday. 

Museum,  of  the  Luxembourg.— Every  day  except  Sun- 
days and  Mondays. 

Museum  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.— Every  day  except 
Sundays  and  Mondays. 

Artillery  Museum. — Open  from  12  until  4  at  the  Invalides. 

Museum  of  Cluny.— Open  on  Sundays  and  week  days, 
except  Mondays. 

Museum  of  Musical  Instruments  at  the  Conserva- 
tory of  Music— Open  from  12  to  2  on  Thursdays. 

Monetary  Museum.— Open  on  Thursdays  and  Fridays 
with  a  permit. 


OMNIBUS  DIRECTORY. 


Offices  are  established  in  the  dijQferent  streets,  and  Boule- 
vards, to  take  up  passengers  and  set  down  those  who  ask  the 
conductor  for  a  correspondence,  viz.  a  check  which  is  deliv- 
ered gratis,  and  enables  the  traveller  to  deviate  from  the 
direct  line  and  continue  his  journey^  by  entering  another  Om- 
nibus. Thus  you  may  go  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other 
for  thirty  centimes  (six  cents)  inside.  No  person  is  allowed 
to  enter  an  omnibus  unless  there  is  a  vacant  seat.  This  rule 
is  imperative,  and  is  never  deviated  from. 

JARDIN  MABILLE From  Rue  du  Louvre— Omni- 
bus C.  yellow;  through  Rue 
de  Rivoli,  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, and  Avenue  des 
Champs  Elysee  to  Avenue 
Montaigne. 

JARDIN  DE  L'ETOILE Same  line  to  Triumphal  Arch, 

which  is  near  the  Avenue 
AVagram. 

CLOSERIE  DES  LILAS,  OR 

JARDIN   BULLIER From  Rue  Royale— Omnibus 

R.  green,  corresponding,  at 
the  Place  du  Chatelet,  with 
Omnibus  A.  G,  dark  brown, 
passing  the  Luxembourg 
Gardens  upon  Boulevard  St. 
Michel. 

B AL  CONSTANT Same  line ;    corresponding  at 

same  place  with  Omnibus  O, 
green,  passing  the  Gardens 
which  are  upon  Boulevard 
Montparnasse. 

CHATEAU  ROUGE From  Rue  Royale— Omnibus 

R,  green,  corresponding  at 
Place  du  Chatelet  with  om- 
nibus J.  yellow,  to  Boulevard 
Rochochouart,  walking  a 
short  distance  up  the  Chaus- 
see  Clignancourt. 


OMNIBUS  DIRECTORY.  147 

REINE  BLANCHE From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus 

E,  yellow,  corresponding  at 
Boulevard  des  Italiens  with 
omnibus  H,  yellow,  which 
passes  the  Gardens. 

ELYSlfiE  MENILMON^ 

TANT Same  line;    corresponding  at 

Boulevard  des  Filles  du  Cal- 
vaire  omnibus  O,  green. 

SALLE  DE  L'ELYS:^E 

DES  ARTS Same  line;  direct  to  Bastille, 

going  a  few  steps  down  the 
Boulevard  Bourdon. 

ALCAZAR Same    line— to    Rue  du  Fau- 
bourg Poissonniere. 

ELDORADO Same  line — until   arriving  at 

Boulevard  de  Strasbourg. 

PAVILION  DE  L'HORLOGE, 
CAFE  DES  AMBASSA- 
DEURS,  ALCAZAR  D'ETE, 

MUSARD  CONCERTS From  Rue  du  Louvre— Omni- 
bus C.  yellow;  through  Rue 
de  Rivoli  and  Place  de  la 
Concorde  to  Champs-Elysees 

CASINO  DE  PARIS From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus 

E,  yellow  to  Place  de  la 
Bastille,  or  direct  from  the 
Louvi'e  by  omnibus  S.  yel- 
low, which  passes  the  Con- 
cert-Rooms. 

GRAND  CONCERT  PARIS- 

lEN From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus 

E.  yellow,  to  Rue  de  Fau- 
bourg St.  Denis. 

CONCERT  DE  LA  GAITl&..From  Rue  Royale— Omnibus 

R,  gi'een,  corresponding  at 
Plac4»  dn  Chatelet  with  line 
J.  yellow. 

CONCERT  DU  XIXeme  Slt- 
CLE From  the  Grand  Hotel— Omni- 
bus C.  yellow,  until  arriv- 
ing at  the  Place  du  Chateau 
d'Eau,  from  which  runs  the 
Rue  du  Chateau  d'Eau. 

GRAND  CASINO  DU  TEM- 
PLE     Same  line  to  Rue  du  Faubourg 

du  Temple,  which  runs  from 
the  Place  du  Chateau  d'Eau. 

CONCERT  MONCEY  .        .  Same  line,   corresponding  at 

No  8,  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 
omnibus  H,  yellow,  which 
passes  the  Concert. 


148 


OMNIBUS   DIRECTORY. 


CONCERT  DE  L'EUROPE.  Same  line   to   Boulevard   de 

Batignolles. 

CONCERT  DE  CALLIOPE    From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus 

E,  yellow,  corresponding  at 
Boulevard  du  Temple  omni- 
bus N.  green,  which  passes 
the  Concert-Rooms. 

FUNAMBULES    .        .        .    Same  line    to  Boulevard    de 

Strasbourg. 

TH:fiATRE  DU  GYMNASE   From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus 


DU      CHATELET       AND 
THEATRE  LYRIQUE    . 


E,    yellow;    it   passes 
Theatre, 


the 


From  Rue  Royale — Omnibus, 
R,    green;     it    passes    the 
Theatre. 
THl&ATRE    DE    LA    PORT 
ST.  MARTIN,  AND  THlfi- 
ATRE      DE      L'AMBIGU 

COMIQUE     .        .        .        From  Grand  Hotel— Omnibus, 

E,  yellow. 
TH]fiATRE     DES      FOLIES 
DRAMATIQUES    .        .      Same  line  to  Rue  de  Bondy, 

passing  the  Theatre. 
THEATRE  DES  VARI]&T£S  Same   line,  also   passes    this 

Theatre. 
THlfiATRE  DE  LA  GAITJfi  Same  line  to  the  Boulevard 

Sebastopol. 
LE  THEATRE  DES  MENUS- 
PLAISIRS      .        .        .        Same   line   to  Boulevard   de 

Strasbourg. 
THEATRE  DAJAZET,  AND 
THEATRE      BEAUMAR- 

CHAIS    ....        Same  line,  passing  both  houses. 
MHliATRE  DE  L'ODfiON     From    No.  8,  Boulevard    des 

Italiens — Omnibus  H,  yel- 
low, direct  to  Odeon. 


CIRQUE    DE 
ELYSEE    . 

HIPPODROME 


CIRQUE  D'HIVER 


CHAMPS 


Same  line  as  the  Jardin  Ma- 

bille. 

From  Grand  Hotel — Omnibus 
AB,  green. 

From  Grand  Hotel — Omnibus, 
E,  yellow,  passing  the  Cir- 
que. 


PAEIS  CAB  TARIFF. 


TWO  OR  FOUR  PERSONS— INTERIOR  OF  PARIS 

From  6  a.m.  until  12,30  at  night: — 

For  a  course  (from  one  point  of  the  city,  inside  the  fortifica- 
tions to  another  without  stopping) 1  50 

For  an  hour 2  00 

From  12.30  at  night  until  6  in  the  morning: — 

For  a  course 2  25 

For  an  hour 2  50 

For  every  quarter  of  an  hour,  after  the  first  hour,  as  per  tariff. 


TIME. 

2  PERSONS. 

4  PERSONS. 

hours,  minutes. 
1  —  15 
1  —  30 
1  —45 
2-00 

francs,  centimes. 

2  —  50 
3-00 

3  —  50 

4  —  00 

francs,  centimes. 

2  —  80 

3  —  25 

3  —  90 

4  —  50 

OUTSIDE  OF  PARIS. 

Cab  taken  inside  of  Paris  for  Bois  de  Boulogne,  &c.,  2  fr. 
60  per  hour,  or  course ;  if  left  outside  the  fortifications,  1  fr. 
extra,  as  indemnity. 

Cab  taken  outside  of  Paris  to  come  into  the  city,  per  hour, 
2  francs. 


BAGGAGE. 

One  article,  25  c. ;   two  articles,  60  c. ;   three  articles  and 
more,  75  c. 


150  PARIS    CAB   TARIFF. 

Driver  is  obliged  to  load  and  unload  trunks  and  packages 
from  the  sidewalk. 
Articles  which  can  be  taken  in  the  cab  not  considered  as 


IMPORTANT  NOTICE. 

When  taken  by  the  hour,  the  driver  must  be  told  so  be- 
forehand, otherwise  he  can  demand  the  price  "of  a  course" 
for  each  stoppage. 

In  taking  a  cab  in  the  street,  or  upon  a  stand,  demand  of 
driver  his  number  (numero),  which  he  is  obliged  to  deliver, 
and  which  is  essential  in  case  of  overcharge,  &c.  The  cus- 
tomary fee  to  the  driver  is  25  c.  This  is  an  old  established 
custom  throughout  the  continent,  if  not  paid,  with  the  fare, 
driver  will  ask  iov  pour  boir  Monsieur,,  which  means  fee.  He 
will  be  satisfied  with  25  centimes  (5  cents)  but  will  willingly 
take  more.  The  same  custom  applies  to  hotel  and  restaurant 
waiters  (Gar^ons)  and  in  fact  to  all  employes.  Always 
have  small  change,  as  they  generally  make  it  a  point  not  to 
have  any. 

Note— 5  francs  to  the  dollar,  5  centimes,  or  one  sous,  is 
one  cent. 


FINIS. 


^JE^cf 


Maisoxi  de  Modes 

Ipeeialtf  ef  Satr  ^ork 

MONS.  J.  AUGUSTE, 

Fflf  M  PAMI&, 
Xs    constantly    receiving    from    Paris 

^  tl)e  latest  Ifarisiau  B^txuuBteaus^ 

sue}}  as  fine  c^rtificial  Flowers,  Pa- 
rures  for  ^alls  and  Parties,  <^lso, 
Perfumeries  and  Sf^ell  iJomhs  of  every 
description.  Specialty  for  bridal  i 
Veils,  Wreatl}s  and  glides'  %Lair 
pressing. 

MANUFACTURER  OP 

BlIlMlIfil*  1411  WOBI 

FOR    LADIES    AND    GENTS. 

HAIE  DBESSED  IN  THE  LATEST  STYLE.  \ 

No.  267  Washington  St.  ZOosftoxi.  J 

New  Number  435.  J 


University  of 
Connecticut 

Libraries 


